Daily Archives: December 21, 2024

The Quiet Pulse of Stars

(a universe) unfolds
between your( hands)
where Time unravels
in.the /quiet/ pulse
ofstars:are::born dying
(again)

and(i)am only a
fragment of whispered(trees)
drowning beneath the
thousandmouthed sky
(and clouds so soft
they
shatter)

oh,you.
are( the fierce )blue
hum of every
unsayable silence,
every:moment:
that
breathes—
into(i)tiny—a spiraling/word\

(lost
but.alive)

what is Light?
(ifnot.your)
gaze breaking
infinite( into trembling)—
earth cracks open,
an ocean of(you
rushing)

(a kiss
blooms where no lips have touched).

:: 12.21.2024 ::


BRILLIANT SUN’S LITHIUM

Mor
tals—
Ascen
d into Their Each—
A Stagg
ering Plun
ge—be
gun—

Dizzied Or
bits—
Swu
ng Wide by Force
s—
Un
seen—
A Trap
eze of Being—
Careening through Somersaults—
A Gush of Elsewhere—
Opened—
Him—Her—Al
l—

:: 12.21.2024 ::

Notes:

So, as the poet of these verses I explain.

Fragmentation as a Tool of Disruption.

The deliberate breaking of words—”Mor/tals,” “Ascen/d,” “Stagg/ering”—disorients the reader, forcing them to engage with each syllable as a unique unit of meaning. This mirrors the fragmented and often chaotic nature of existence. The form itself becomes a metaphor for the poem’s themes: ascent, disarray, and reconstruction.
The deliberate breaking of words—”Mor/tals,” “Ascen/d,” “Stagg/ering”—disorients the reader, forcing them to engage with each syllable as a unique unit of meaning. This mirrors the fragmented and often chaotic nature of existence. The form itself becomes a metaphor for the poem’s themes: ascent, disarray, and reconstruction.

Last thoughts:

This poem is an experiment in form, language, and thought, one that dares to fragment the familiar in order to reveal the sublime. It challenges the reader to navigate its dizzying orbits and, in doing so, find their own meaning within its fractured brilliance. Like the “Brilliant Sun” it evokes, it radiates energy and light, illuminating the beauty and complexity of human existence.

Brilliant Sun’s Lithium feels like a poem written at the intersection of time and space—where mortals touch the eternal.


Speak, The Trees

This park—so small—a world confined,
Its silence—like a thought enshrined.
Where others—roam in wider air,
Alone—I linger—everywhere.

The trees—they stoop—a whisper shy,
The paths—like veins—beneath the sky.
And yet—the hush—a greater hymn,
A space immense—though seeming dim.

:: 12.21.2024 ::