rewrite
gripped by galactic coils
wink above my low roof,
a chaos of diamonds
tossed over black velvet
of a jeweler's case,
implausible itineraries,
the stars, again the stars
blaze a trail in space.
I rub ravines etched
by care upon the landscape
of my face, finding peace
in the company of the silent
stars and their ancient light
emanating prophecy that
there will be no change,
that still what is real is
the redness of Mars.
The stars, again the stars pass
the low roof of my starship
cruising unscathed
through the banking crisis,
the specter named socialism
that keeps hanging around,
the enigma posed by
bearded wise men of Iran
indisposed in their robes
to urgent Western overtures.
My starship escapes
hijacking by the ruthless
Somali pirates as I
wave my sword and cry,
"repel all boarders," then navigate
past tiny white non sequiturs
spilling from the mouth of
Barack Obama into a proverbial
pond and I find reason for hope
forging into the next tornado
season. All destinies however
violent and articulated merge
to become one --
gripped by galactic coils,
the secret of the stars:
the true value of a dime
orbiting Saturn. Revelation
roars as I gaze unscathed
at the stars, again the stars.
It's all about us getting closer
and us getting closer to
the redness of Mars.
pjk
Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 751 times
Editors' choice
Written on 2009-04-02 at 14:21
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Again, the Stars
The stars, again the stars,gripped by galactic coils
wink above my low roof,
a chaos of diamonds
tossed over black velvet
of a jeweler's case,
implausible itineraries,
the stars, again the stars
blaze a trail in space.
I rub ravines etched
by care upon the landscape
of my face, finding peace
in the company of the silent
stars and their ancient light
emanating prophecy that
there will be no change,
that still what is real is
the redness of Mars.
The stars, again the stars pass
the low roof of my starship
cruising unscathed
through the banking crisis,
the specter named socialism
that keeps hanging around,
the enigma posed by
bearded wise men of Iran
indisposed in their robes
to urgent Western overtures.
My starship escapes
hijacking by the ruthless
Somali pirates as I
wave my sword and cry,
"repel all boarders," then navigate
past tiny white non sequiturs
spilling from the mouth of
Barack Obama into a proverbial
pond and I find reason for hope
forging into the next tornado
season. All destinies however
violent and articulated merge
to become one --
gripped by galactic coils,
the secret of the stars:
the true value of a dime
orbiting Saturn. Revelation
roars as I gaze unscathed
at the stars, again the stars.
It's all about us getting closer
and us getting closer to
the redness of Mars.
pjk
Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 751 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2009-04-02 at 14:21
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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