Michelle Smith

Newness of kaleidoscopic colors and dust

Exploding boom of cosmic gases

Becomes volumetric

Universal and unique

Lasting and living stars

Asteroids

Is this God and I meeting?

Is this the Skittles where I taste the rainbow?

Floating into fantasy, no fight,flight, or freeze

Astronomy

"Space, the final frontier,"

Captivates my eyes, a camera of my mind

Ignites my soul spinning

Now there's darkness and light,

Astrology and age

Time of my birth, a.m. or p.m.

Enveloping my life chart

Sounds of whooshing shooting stars

My body is a carousel caught in

Energy-efficient elation

"Space, the final frontier."

From the Sci-Fi TV show Star Trek

R A Ruadh

Walking the Stars in Beauty

In memoriam Aya Lee Martin, Lakota poet

You are walking the stars now my friend

I can hear you laughing

All the way from there

Smoked and loving rough

There were times I felt

As if you were breaking me

As a horse needs be broken

Learning to manage her strength

Then again, our conversations

Could take galloping flight

Reaching far to freedoms

Only woman hearts know

Aah we were so merciless

About the men we loved

And each others faults

Bragging on our battle scars

Bards make the best warriors

Artists tell only truths

With their fantasy brushes

Painting secrets for literate spirits

I hear the horses swiftly running

Carrying you over the Milky Way

Laughing as you greet spirits

Of yesterday’s mourning cries

Walk the stars in beauty my friend

You taught me to see them everywhere

Dance with hair aflight lightly lovely

Eyes of love laughing at us all

gia civerolo

shooting star eyelashes

It was barely morning 

The black crow on 

The black tightrope

Telephone Line

Knew she had 

Decided

She delighted in 

Not telling 

You

Skipping through the 

Dirty kitchen floor

A tisket-a-tasket

Slipping on wounded 

Carnage

Out of habit she gave

You one more chance

An offering for the Holiday a

Gift

A chance to eat

What’s in the 

Red & green basket

Extracted by mounting

Courage

A sinner should be

Willing to eat away

All their 

Sins

Problem Is 

He liked the taste

Much too much

Dripping off his

Lip

She recognized the

Wolf long before the

Little Red Hooded 

Girl Did

She has no memory of

When it became too

Late

She dug into the  

Bottom of her

Pink ballerina

Jewelry box

Finding and putting on

Her shooting -star 

Eyelashes

Moonlit feathers strung

Together forming a boa fluttering

Away

No glass slippers in her bag

High heels never quite fit

She always took them off to

Dance

Now she will dance barefooted

Like the witches in the forest

Freely

Maybe even with you

What a thrill to flirt 

Again

She smashes the 

Glass slippers

Shattering mosaic 

Memories

Broken color ornaments

Reflecting barely 

Morning light

Shattering sharp pieces

On her feet

And her heart

Breaks

Free

Bleeding vampires

Lick their lips

So very delicately

She smiles 

Deliciously

Knowing it is

Not the first

Wooden stake 

She will strike

Severing a shadow 

Soul

She roams in this

Poem

Knowing there are

No Happy Endings

Yet she feels so

Happy with this 

Ending

She turns 

The broken 

Gold door

Knob

Happy she

Didn’t

Put up the 

Christmas Tree

Breathing in

And out

Joy

PJ Swift

Archive of Dreams

We arrive at the nearby star cluster to visit its illustrious archive, a construction so colossal that it dwarfs anything conceivable on Earth. We wander through a tiny fraction of its millions of stories, each floor a labyrinth of seemingly endless hallways of seemingly endless length. We are not here for any particular research; we are simply in awe of this comprehensive catalogue that stores every human dream ever dreamt. Each day and night, the archive expands a considerable extent.

I approach an administrator and ask if the archive has enough space for all these dreams and all future ones as well.  They assure me that this star cluster, far larger than our solar system, has an almost unimaginable storage capacity. But then they add something unexpected: despite its immense size, the archive is not vast enough to contain the unrealized dreams of even one person on Earth. One thing that all this cataloging has ascertained is that nothing in the universe has that capacity.

Jeffry Jensen

Star Shooting Star Squared

Where are the Manga books old man librarian?

My answer is channeled into space with feeling.

A reed quintet gathered in the reading room.

They came all the way from UCLA.

An emptiness crossed my crooked path.

A void of eloquence is the last thing in the sky.

I point toward the pancakes layering the Milky Way.

It was the morning for all mothers to return the legs to stand on.

There had to be a shoulder nearby to cry on.

The last leg in the universe was part of the ethereal story.

Cotton balls were sparkling in the night sky.

Speckled by a bad dream maybe falling into the bus lane.

Extinction has stretched across an investigator’s tongue.

There is no political shock big enough to rattle any Black Hole.

I am no bluebird on the wing, no ground squirrel dropping acorns.

I stopped at a rural roadside motel that has free Wifi.

There was a whoosh of Christmas cheer blanketing Forest Lawn.

I began picking off all the low hanging stars stuck outside of Palmdale.

Tim Tipton

Sacred Moon

for JPB

Pink moon

Beauty in the dark

Close but so far

Hawk moon

Harvest moon

All I know has gone to worlds unknown

Holy moon

Blood moon

Here I am

alone on Earth 

I breathe out 

Your love shines around me like a million stars

calling me across the universe

Grandma's Kitchen 

I like to take refuge of my memories of my Grandmother,

most of it had to do with food:

Honey dipped fried chicken,

Gram made that every Sunday

she marinaded the chicken in honey and fried it

in all purpose Crisco till it was crispy and light

Lamb Casserole,

That’s the dish she cooked all day with scrumptious 

morsels of mouth watering lamb surrounded by creamy 

mash potatoes 

-- And onions.

Grandmother created the best Apple Pie,

with brown sugar baked in the simmering tender apples  

and cut out stars in the crust

I loved that pie.

Cheddar cheese sandwiches:

I wanted that so much 

She made it where the bread was crispy and chewy

And the inside was heaven in my mouth

Baked Lasagna -- that had onions

It was good to be with Grandmother in the warmth of her kitchen

Trish Saunders

And We’ll Drink From A Glass Of Stars

Yes, let’s get smashed on cheap pink wine,

sick of genteel sadness,

I want to wade thigh-high 

inro dangerous surf, 

fling a bottle, 

shake my bracelets at the sky:

Damn you up there, in your glittering milieu.

What do you know about heartache? 

Have you lost a son? 

Searched for a missing brother?

Someone, twirl me on dull beige sand. 

I want people to point and stare. 

You sneering comets, nebulae--

come down here,

go toe to toe with me.

Horse and Stars

Down from the hills came this dark blue roan,

he trotted into my living room 

looked briefly at me  

while chandelier chards 

glittered in his mane, 

then just as quickly he

bolted outside.

I loved that horse once. Together,

we could forget our small town

near the ocean.  

As my family slept,  

my horse and I crossed the Pacific 

while Orion’s dogs stared down enviously.

With that horse, I could return 

to the place I started from.

People will be waiting. 

They will come out of their houses  

to smile and wave, welcoming us.     

Joe Grieco

Postmodern Astronomy 

I’ve got no ruckus with Polaris

North is north, true is true

At least within a degree or so

Nothing finer than Ursa Minor

That dipper, she’s legit

It’s her phony shooting stars, the Ursids,

Piss me off

None of them real stars, these bitches,

Just trashy sand and dust combustibles  

Lying little flashers 

Not stars, not reindeer

Not shooters, not Billy the Kid

Little Ursa doesn’t even own a gun

Don’t waste your Christmas wishes like I did

jf giraffe

A LUCKY LOOK (HAIKU)

Quick glance at the sky.

Shooting Stars traveling fast.

I almost missed them. 

Ellyn Maybe

Starry Starry Night (HAIKU)

Matt Smith met Van Gogh

Don McLean stirred melody

Life hard yet sublime 

Shih-Fang Wang

Missing You  

Your short life 

Was a shooting star  

Traversing the sky     

And vanishing into the darkness  

Only a little over three decades

You spent on Earth          

Not enough for you 

To chase your dreams     

You were always in a rush

It seemed you knew 

Your allotted time was short 

At your memorial I witnessed   

Tears in the eyes of many people 

And I realized

The flame of your life

Had once warmed many hearts

Hedy Habra

Or What’s In An Inverted Image?

After Pacifica by Wadada Leo Smith

He often sails

at dawn

lassoes the sun

with a line

strung

with a constellation

of stars

throws rainbows

and slivers

of moon crescents

into

the ocean’s depths

where

all frustrations lie

till layers

and layers of waves

echo

the colors of the rainbow

First published by The Bitter Oleander

From Or Did You Ever See The Other Side? (Press 53 2024)

Expectations

Face to face, standing in an immobile boat, two lovers are enveloped

by a lapis lazuli glow as though out of a painting by Miró revisited

by Klein: the deep sea evaporates around them, freeing a school of

redfish gliding at ease as in an aquarium: only their fins flicker like

fireflies around the nascent crescent, a silent witness to that still scene:

the boy holds a loaf of moon in one hand while in the other shines a

scarlet star, the color of the girl’s bonnet. Slightly bent over his offerings,

she reflects, her crossed hands weighing her breasts heavy with

promises and songs.

First published by Knot Magazine

From Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)

Broken Ladder

After Lastgeving by Hans van der Kroef

I am no longer this little boy who ran away at night to milk the

moon and stars. What am I to do if the ladder is broken, leaving

golden threads dangling in broad daylight, braided rays of hardened

light yet fine as silk spun by a silkworm, once linking me to that lost

site of fearless joys? But I will send back the stardust I fed on for so

long. Now you know why I study the Almanac, waiting for the

right day and time when wheat is ripe, reaching high into those rays

of light. You know why I’m here, in the midst of this field, dressed

in my Sunday clothes: I will pull these gilded chords as those of a

tower bell ringing above beckoning a gift filled with the substance of

dreams, wrapped with Queen Mab’s veils. Don’t fear it is too heavy:

it weighs less than a breath or a sigh. Let the wind blow softly, watch

it rise to the top with your eyes closed.

First published by Pirene's Fountain

From Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)

Dean Okamura

This morning

 

"my house being now all stilled" 

— St. John of the Cross 

I lay in a bed of shooting stars, 

Fading lost wishes from lonely nights. 

Many times the dark consumed my sight, 

Till a heavenly spark ignited my soul. 

Short-lived but truest hope broke through, 

Making this bed of joy and despair. 

Isn’t all good, all heaviness fated to die, 

Like shimmering shooting stars in the sky? 

linda m crate

making their wishes reality 

i always looked

for shooting stars

to wish upon,

once i saw one and was

so taken by the beauty

that i forgot to make my wish;

and then i was mad at

myself for letting that moment

simply pass me by—

how many moments

are so rare

we forget to treasure them?

i think the shooting stars

of my life are the people i love,

and seeing them achieve their dreams;

because there's nothing quite

like seeing the people you love

glowing with joy as they dance

across the skies of their 

lives

making their wishes reality.

i miss your light 

i thought you 

could be the sun of my sky,

perhaps;

you were only meant to be

a shooting star—

beautiful and magical,

awe-inspiring;

but only a soft song in the

night's sky meant to be

remembered 

long after you disappeared—

you woke in me the dreaming long

after i thought it was dead in gone

in me,

and reminded me of my 

power and my magic;

you were a shooting star

i took for granted—

now your light no longer

dances across 

my sky,

but i miss it; 

all the same.

dazzling beauty 

when you make

a wish upon a shooting star

i wonder does it make

a wish upon you,

too?

i am magic,

and it is magic and maybe we

are just two dreamers

full of many wishes;

i hope their dreams

come true, too,

before they fade out of

the sky—

i wonder what it would be

to catch a shooting star,

in your hands;

would it be like holding a bird who

could no longer fly just trembling

in your palms?

or would it be like holding a broken

heart outside of your chest?

i don't know,

but i do admire those shooting stars

as they dance across the sky because their

beauty is dazzling.

Rolland Vasin AKA Vachine

Transcendent Tame

Scooter was his name.

USC Booster his game.

CPA of regional fame.

Judged without shame.

Bad Jew to me his blame.

I sorely ached to maim.

Seeking revenge aflame.

Turned away, lowered aim.

Love, tolerance my claim.

Patrick Walters

Circa '76...

always rains

on the run away day

scooby-doo box

leaks on the

peanut butter jelly 

and your only twinkie

is all you got

three blocks 

from the start

of it

furthest i ever made

before anyone knew

i tried

Jackie Chou

Shooting Star

Do not wish upon a shooting star

It's too busy chasing its own tail

Disappearing before going far

Like its paper counterparts in a jar

It will let you down without fail

Do not wish upon a shooting star 

Chewing on a Milky Way Bar

On this stale life you'd like to bail

Disappearing before going far

No one seems to care who you are

All you ever receive is junk mail

Do not wish upon a shooting star 

Your reputation is without mar

Yet you envy even those in jail

Disappearing before going far 

Believe me, you are up to par

To a glittery future you will sail

Do not wish upon a shooting star 

Disappearing before going far

Marieta Maglas

Starlight

She represents a fluid 'I' reminiscent of the stars;

seemingly lingering; seemingly suspended in time;

an illusion. She recognizes that in this immense.

 

universe, she cannot encounter another one being

like herself; only portions of the infinite, confined to her

understanding; a threshold of knowledge, a distant horizon,

 

or a mere line delineating the sea from the sky; light

dancing upon the water's surface and reflection.

Her gaze grazes the serene blueness. The blue hues of

 

nascent stars reside within everyone and everything;

in all the flowers and the icy hail; frigid like the tail of

any comet; absorbing starlight; starring-eyed and dust-laden,

 

contemplating in polarized electromagnetism;

photosynthesis and transpiration; transformation;

preserved existence and fossilized language;

 

all basking in the same warmth of this nurturing sun;

encircling God in this reality of shifting hues that create

a heliotropic and sun-following flow. God is omnipresent

 

among the things of her memory. She merges them into

a sweet caramel. Her name is Eve, and she is waiting

to be devoured by the necrophagous worms.

 

Jintishi Poem for the Heaven's Strings

A frozen time brings hush and heavy snow

to fall over the silver fir;

to cherish God and to be snowed up

while harmonizing with hymns of faith~

no bees to fly on high, forgotten falls;

sins await absolution and every bush

transforms into a snow devil;

birds' eyes, chirps, and memories

in the tree trunk~ love heart;

Angels with wings hover nearby,

while the forest longs for renewal,

yet faces the threat of being felled.

This is a time of revivification

through suffering and love.

The starlight envelops the silence of the world.

Sacred songs touch

the core of the heavens;

absorption and disappearance.

 

Shooting Stars

 

He moved through her life

as a comet orbiting the Earth—

never making contact,

yet leaving behind only

ephemeral shooting stars. 

She yearned to encounter him and feel

his presence, but such a connection

would only result in suffering within.

She found solace in her solitude,

which resembled an ordinary stone,

often overlooked on the shore.

This solitude was increasingly

shaped by the relentless waves.

She entered a timeless space of transformation,

allowing her memories to dissolve in a final wave,

one that resonated a bit longer before

fading into nothingness.

David Fewster

SUPER 8

Like Boris Karloff in "The Mummy"

waving his hand over

the Pool of Remembrance,

I touch the digital screen and conjure

grainy, washed-out images a half-century old.

Our youthful selves cavort in

long-lost landscapes.

By the Great God Thoth!--

How can such wonders be?

Spring of '78,

I had been in LA for about 6 months

when I went to a screening of

"Breathless" at the Nuart.

I immediately wrote my parents

back in Rochester NY,

requesting they ship out

my Super-8 camera pronto.

This was the cheapest, lowest-end model

that Kodak made--

it was basically a Crackerjack box

with a motor and round piece

of glass stuck on one end.

Armed with this toy, I was

the Lumiere Bros. &

D.W. Griffith

Keaton & Chaplin

Luis Bunuel & Jacques Tati

My only dream was

to one day shoot

a film as good as

"Fish Heads"

Godard had Paris, but I was without envy,

for I had all of

Los Angeles for a backdrop--

Venice Boardwalk

Santa Monica Pier

Grauman's Chinese Theater

The slums of Mar Vista

77 Sunset Strip!

Sometimes we would stand

on the blank stars,

not yet filled in,

on Hollywood Blvd.

and pretend

our own names were

written under our feet.

Miles of celluloid flowed

as we cranked out our epics:

Disco Roller Granny

Dueling Urban Cowboys

Bob Dylan Sucks Eggs

Sea Monsters Under the Pier

No one can call themselves

a filmmaker until

they've tried to

align splicing tape

along microscopic 

8-mill. sprocket holes

Then came the fateful day

when Fotomat destroyed

the orgy scene from

"Make Me a Star, You Bastard"

giving me a blank reel instead

(was it censored

or taken home for private use

by some lucky employee?--

I'll never know)

and, without funds for reshoots,

I fell into a depression

(not unlike Orson Welles with

"The Other Side of the Wind" debacle)

from which my career

as a cineaste never

truly recovered.

Decades later, I gather

the tiny cannisters of mouldering plastic,

take it to a specialty outfit,

and several hundreds of dollars later

they all fit in

a slim compact-disc sleeve.

Somewhat similar, I reflect

to the pioneering work in

film preservation done at

the George Eastman Museum

(based in the town I was born--

see stanza 2.)

Now all this stuff is on

"The Cloud"

or whatever the hell the kids call it.

Looking at out flickering ghosts,

I wonder if this is how Louise Brooks

felt as she sat in the audience

and saw "Diary of a Country Girl"

for the first time in fifty years--

that the stupid reflection

in the mirror

was a lie

and the images on the screen

are how we

perpetually envision

the face behind our eyes.

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

IN SOLITUDE AT NIGHT 

In solitude at night 

my life flashed before my eyes.

In darkness I sobbed

filling the air with sadness.

I stumbled into 

bed and remained a shadow

of my former self.

I fell into a deep dream.

Suddenly, I was that

man again. In my dream I 

breathed a sigh of 

relief. I was myself

in this minor miracle.

I was a shooting star.

SHOOT THE MOON

There was a time 

I tried to shoot

the moon.

But I never got close.

Eventually 

death would come to 

take my life.

THE SOLITUDE OF A STAR

How much would you pay to see

the solitude of a star? Is it worth it

to purchase such disquiet?

In solitude I stay up most nights and

whatever this is worth, I pay no

mind or money to the blank page.

I imagine I coast most days while

the clock ticks away. Things happen

for a reason. My preoccupation with

words concern me. The solitude of

a star has gathered steam in my

naked thoughts as I develop my craft.

Matt McGee

THE SHOOTING STAR

What got him booked to appear

on her popular afternoon talk show

was the feat of having reached middle age

with fame still firmly filling his sails and scandal

never having tarnishing his family name. 

“What advice would you give young 

women out there watching today,” she asked.

The star’s brow arched; he’d got a similar question

from male interviewers but never a woman, and for this

a mostly female audience. He leaned forward, just like 

the good doctor he’d once played on TV, folded his

fingers together and said: “simply this. No matter

how old you are, how you’re dressed that day, or

how you happen to be feeling, never be afraid to

walk into a room full of men and state what

you’re there for. They’ll respect you for it,

and speak well of your confidence.”

Kelly was six when she watched this show.

Moments later her mother gave her an order,

and Kelly marched to the corner bar, full of men

swearing and smoking and elbowing one another

and when the bartender looked down and said ‘and 

what would you like, little lady?’ she pointed at her

father, half asleep at the end of the bar. Two men

hoisted him to his feet and saw him home. And

though the star passed away at a young age,

Kelly still walks into rooms full of men and 

leaves with just what she came for, hearing

the words of two men that day: ‘you got 

yourself a fine daughter there.’

Karen Pierce Gonzalez

 

Marie Lecrivain

Supernova

the summer

of my 18th year

we met while

we worked under

a hot white star

you approached me

like a thief 

in the night

which made 

me smile

I’d liked you

for awhile

though it was

your best friend

I was after

but my efforts

were in vain

so I accepted

your clumsy 

courtship

and ignored 

microaggressions

disguised as 

helpful 

hints

I was hungry

for what

I assumed

was love

but was abuse

under the night sky

above

Castaic Lake

you said

those magic words

which I echoed 

back as acceptance

like a good girl

is supposed

to do

I can’t take back

what I said

even though

it was 

a lie

I can’t take back

the wound I opened

in your ignorant

and primitive

heart

worn down

from your endless

suggestions of how

I could be

a better girlfriend

I destroyed us

with everything I had

and gave you back

all the pain 

you forced on me

Sometimes I wonder

where and how

you are

we never spoke

again

I’ll never forget

how I ripped your soul 

in half

or the tears 

in your eyes

Why None of Us Will Ever Die

There’s no night without stars - Andre Norton

       Living in Los Angeles feels like eternal twilight. The smog and light pollution render the night sky a dirty, opaque purple. From my window, I see planes fly by and pretend they’re comets, shooting stars, or perhaps, one of those old Soviet soyuz capsules with the cooked remains of a doggynaut falling back to earth after 67 years. 

       You have to go up to the Griffith Park Observatory, the top floor of the Citibank building in DTLA (above the inversion layer), or drive 40 miles north to Ventura to see real stars. If you drive up to one of the campgrounds, like La Jolla, you can pitch your tent and roast marshmallows by the sea. 

        At 1:56 am, after a night of drinking and rough sex, when you look up, you’ll see the arch of the Milky Way over your head, a band of billions of years shining right before your eyes. If you feel a momentary elation, followed by a drop in the pit of your stomach, like you just jumped off a cliff, this is the affirmation you need to remind you you’re a cosmic speck made of the same stars that will be there long after your bones have turned to dust.

CLS Sandoval

After Mom Died

I had fallen asleep with some kind of true crime documentary playing through my earbud. I left one air free to be attentive to any moans or cries from my dying mother. It took a moment for me to remember where I was, on her curved couch that she had reupholstered in a bright pink white gray black patterned fabric, Barbara sent me a text asking how my mom was. I told her that she was still sleeping then I sat up and looked a little closer. As I approached, my mother, I saw that her eyes were slightly open, and her mouth was a gape. I knew she wasn’t there anymore.  Her pretty blue eyes once clear like the sky on a summer day. We’re now a cloudy gray, including Black people now blown out. I thought to myself she’s blind. She can’t see. Later I thought that was odd since my mother was obviously dead, and no longer needed her eyes.  I alerted her husband and my sister that my mom was no longer with us. My sister got to work cleaning my mom’s face and hugging her and I made the phone call to donate her body.

Unknown to me until months later, my sister sobbed herself to sleep, and felt my mother embracing her that evening. She, crying out to our mother, begging her to return. I feel my mom has had hand, allowing my sister to believe more than she had. to see that there may be life after this one. The way my sister put it was that the veil was softened.

I have yet to feel the presence of my great grandmother, Nana, or mother since their deaths. I think about them, as I gaze into the heavens under a stary sky. I even talk to them sometimes in my mind. But my sister is the one who really felt our mother’s presence after she passed.

Flying in the Air

On the third floor of my childhood home, I stood on my parents’ deck, hanging over ever so slightly.  I would dream of flying off of that deck, dropping just a little with gravity, then swooping up toward the clear Poway sky, perhaps on a stary night, high enough to see the Pacific, a 30-minute drive away.  Thankfully, looking straight down would tip my balance enough to scare me away from the wooden railing.  The lantana that my father had planted before I was born wound up the diagonal wood on the side of the house, all the way up to the shingles.  Here, on the deck, I could be eye to eye with the hummingbirds, suspended in air from their wings flapping too fast for me to clearly see, as they went from yellow to purple to magenta clusters of teeny tiny flowers.  I was flying with them.

 

Sunrise

Every sunrise of my life seemed the same until the morning of August 18, 2016. My mom and I flew into Madison, Wisconsin the night before. Then my daughter’s birth mother invited us to the hospital to meet her. I paced in the waiting room for the hour or so that the C-section took. Then I met my daughter. Holding her for the first time, I looked out of the hospital to see the sun in the clear blue sky, the result of a perfect sunrise.

Joan McNerney

7 Summer Notes

Hallow mouth of the moon

clouds cross forming

an airy handkerchief.

 

All sound disappears.

The earth is calm, mild, silent....

my love has come near.

 

The morning mist roams

back and forth like a

voiceless wanderer.

Summer evening.

Sun and moon share the sky in

perfect symmetry.

 

Calculating....

a fish leaps to capture

bite of heaven.

 

At road’s end...the sun

waits for us while shooting

stars write poetry.

 

Full moon anchored

between blue sky

and waves of clouds.

Lynn White

When The Moon Ate The Dark

They were observant people

who saw the night

black 

already

unbroken 

by pinpoint stars.

Shooting into the black 

even before the moon 

scoffed 

then swallowed

eating up the dark

and leaving only a ring 

of white moonlight for breakfast

with nothing to come for afters 

but spatters of spewed out stars.

They could hardly believe it

but still they felt that

only black days could follow

such an apocalypse

a world without light

a world without life

an apocalyptic

eclipse.

Winter Light

When the winter light hits the trees

the blue disappears in a spectrum

of bright white and gold

shooting out like a beaming star

from a brilliant diamond

and then fades away

fades with the sinking feeling

of an endgame approaching

as the blue disappears 

swallowed by winter dark

eaten up by blackness

all too soon.

First published in Flora Fiction, Winter 2020/21

The Place Where The Stars Are Buried

I’m on my way to the place 

where the stars are buried

shooting under a roof of rain.

I won’t get lost.

I’m following the silver snail

trails and the muddy pools

with the little shimmers of spangles.

When I get there - to the place

where the stars are buried.

I shall dig a little, dig

just enough to let

a glimmer of light out.

Just enough to let

the love sparkle and

sizzle in the light

before it burns.

First published in Midnight Circus, June 2016

Wayne F Burke

Stars

A river of cars, yellow lights

in-coming, red out-going.

So this is Hollywood; wonder if

I will be mugged.

Dust under my shoes walking

over stars in the sidewalk, 2 a.m.

back to hotel/motel room where

I wake to screams, shouts, and

a helicopter overhead shining

a pencil-thin spotlight across the

parking lot: this is not Hollywood

it is LA, big city of broken dreams

and arms--

the chopper lifts off

into the dark

where the stars

shine brighter than

any on earth ever could.

On the Wagon

in Junior High School

for a weekend or

night, standing in the park

after dark, me and

whomever else on the wagon

too--

shooting the shit, watching

cars pass, laughing about

how bad those who went

drinking will feel in the

morning; wondering too

what they and everyone

else are doing...

The traffic light of main Street

turns green then red; the

lights of the drug store go out;

a lone car rolls by; the yawns

become more frequent than the

words: "I think I will hit the sack."

My feet scuffle along the sidewalk

under half a moon.

Thor

a sliver of banana moon

sunk in mist of

starless

sky blue

dark--

the moon rocks in the

foamy sea

two-hundred thirty thousand miles above me, but

a stone's throw for me Irish cousin

Thorblad, from Cork, who

bobbed-up in the Irish Sea

lash March deck-wise on the

fairy float from Holy Hog

through avalanches of

waves like mighty

hillsides, to dock

with Harp in hand

in dark dirty Dublin

cit-tee.

Connie Johnson

On This Blues Highway 

As my rock of jubilation you make all things clear: 

the silver and the agate, all pathways of understanding. 

Stars of awakening!

I’m a feral girl amongst 

the tumbleweeds; My reflexes 

are sharp and I rarely stumble.

I remember when all of my journeys took place underground. 

I remember bullet holes in the walls of a seedy, Southern motel. 

I remember the silver and agate rings that denoted 

me as your chosen one. 

A struck match sheds only a tiny bit of light and I’m going to need 

a little splash of whatever it is you’re drinking.  It’s 5AM and this 

is such a lonely stretch of  highway, O soul husband!  

My rock of jubilation

My path of all understanding

This inborn dread of endless travel has left me 

feeling stranded.  And if it wasn’t for the sassy swoon 

of Blue Lu Barker on “Don’t You Make Me High,” 

I never, ever would have made it home.   

Nightlife: Haiku

You’re a P.M. femme

Hooked on the nightlife of jazz

The stars surround you

Inexplicable

The way you can improvise

Art Tatum’s Moonglow

Hipster jazz rules here

All of our references

So impeccable

A nightful of questions

Ella tries her hand at one:

How High the Moon?

Smoky contralto

Shirley Horn heats up the room

Embers and Ashes

A kiss from Nellie

Nice Work if You Can Get It

Thelonious smiles

Paging King Pleasure!

Ruling us with vocalese

Aristocracy 

It’s London by Night

Sultry vixen at the mic

Julie is her name

Take us traveling

To a Night in Tunisia

I’ve got my passport!

Ornithology

On a night of bebop bliss!

Bird is taking flight 

He’s late coming home

And lipstick stains his collar

Don’t Explain, you say

Blasted Smithereens 

In the one hundred miles 

Of a coerced confession, I sit and 

Consider your deserted streets. Not a 

Witness to be found, old as dirt and options 

Slim; newspapers crunched with age gather 

At your feet. 

Time has brought us to the blasted

Smithereens of our dreams.  You are

The ten dollar mojo bag that I found

 

In Kentucky; I’m every juke 

House broad you met in 

New Orleans. 

Hold onto redemption as you

Disembark from the Greyhound that 

Brought you here: “You hold no sway 

with me.....we’re beyond all that now”

I’m an Irma Thomas radio dedication

And you’re the boozy pub crawl to all

Bad intentions!

I ponder your gestures, exaggerated;  

You ponder the swivel of my hips 

You are the arc of my story, though

My version differs from yours; 

I am the lie of omission 

On all of your lonely

And star-lit 

Avenues.

Mary Mayer Shapiro

SHOOTING STAR STONES 

Sling shot 

A toy 

A weapon 

Shooting stones  

At targets 

Stones of different 

Sizes, shapes 

Mostly pebbles 

One shaped as a star 

Spread the word 

Wrote peace on one side 

Hope on the other 

Shot it in the air 

Strong wind appeared 

Carried the shooting star stone 

Around the world 

Spreading good will 

Didn't work 

Both sides need 

To want peace on Earth 

SHOOTING STARS 

Fighting in the sky 

Falling stars 

Illusion, just dust and rock 

Meteorites 

Armed, take aim, fire 

Sun in the path 

Rays disintegrate bullets 

Old stars dying 

New stars reborn 

Never ending  

Not ever a dull moment 

Stars flying all about 

Avoiding shooting stars 

North Star points the way 

Big Dipper comforts Little Dipper 

Northern lights try to intervene 

Orien the hunter tries to keep peace 

Cupid shoots arrows for love 

Ursa Major, Great Bear 

With Ursa Minor, Little Bear 

Stands guard 

Shooting stars keep falling 

Indiscriminately  

No rhyme, no reason 

Just because 

A circus in the sky 

FIRE WORKS

Contamination in the sky

Stars shoot out

Signaling to each other

Shield themselves

From sparks

New stars are startle

Old stars

Do not hear

Or see that well

Least affected

No place to hide

Send morse code

To each other

To warn

Advance burst

People sit on grass

Wait for display

To begin

Do not realize the

Danger of fire works

To themselves and

To the sky

Robert Fleming

 

trippy trace film

trippy trace

liquify melt

Mike Turner

Battle Stars

The battlefield is strewn

with fallen stars

Frightened warriors slain

in meaningless death

Their struggles for naught

as war continues

If not this one, the next

Better that stars remain

in the heavens

Constellations, galaxies, nebulae

shining upon fields and plains

Where war is ancient history

and amity, harmony, community

Bind Humanity as one

Stars and the Night

We cannot grasp stars

They lie beyond our hand’s reach

But we can hold dreams

Dreams will succor us

Through deprivation and loss

As the stars’ light dims

And when they burn out

Depriving us of star shine

We shall still have night

Where Spirit Roams

Thou cannot cage me

Though you may shackle me in chains

‘Tis only my corporeal being

Which is but transitory existence

My imagination shall continue to roam

Bringing new thoughts and places and experiences

Of which you cannot rob me

They being on a higher plane

Where spirit roams

Unfettered and free

Far beyond mere mortals’ grasp

Circling ever upward

Above this mortal realm

Thence to the stars

From whence we all are born

Carl Stilwell AKA CaLokie

GHOST STORY *

I was

walking by

my house.

And all of

a sudden

I hear,

“Ghost!”

And I

looked

and I

see somebody

and I didn’t know

who it was.

“Com’ere!”

they say

and they

keep on

getting closer

and yelling

“Ghost.”

And then 

they say,

“Where’re

you from?”

And I say,

“Nowhere,

homes.

I don’t

bang 

no more.”

“Where

you from?”

Nowhere.

And then

I hear,

“Ghost!

I thought

I knew

you, fool!”

And then

they shoot.

BAM!

And I

could see 

my body

on the 

floor.

and then

they come over

and say, “See

I told you,

I fuckin’

told you...

STUPID!

See I

told you.

Fuckin

told you.

Fuckin...”

BAM!  

*A found poem from PP. 101-102, Celeste Fremon, Father Greg & the Homeboys, Hyperion New York, 1995

DOUBLE SONNET REFLECTIONS OF A SHOOTING STAR

Half a million U.S. families bankrupt each year from medical debt

Almost 70,000 needless deaths each year due to denied care

Among the world's 10 highly developed countries, the United States, 

the only one without universal health care, ranks last

Mangione in manifesto says “US the number one most expensive 

healthcare system in the world, yet number 42 in life expectancy” 

Mother told overnight hospital stay "not medically necessary" 

after her 12-year-old's heart surgery

Bladder treatment costing $250 in China costs $13,200 in Texas

Last year UnitedHealthcare had the highest denial rate - 32%

Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield announces it would limit 

coverage on anesthesia during surgery

UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson en route to investor conference 

at Hilton Hotel in midtown Manhattan to collect Christmas bonus

Last year he made almost $20 million, or almost $40K a day, 

mostly in non-taxable bonuses or stock options

UnitedHealthcare CEO, Brian Thompson, shot in back and killed

The words, “DENY, DEFEND, and DEPOSE” printed on bullet shells 

Shooting Star, Luigi Mangione, now a folk hero 

New Yorkers hold a shooter lookalike contest, all hood and mask

Wanted posters went up around New York City featuring 

names, crimes and salaries of eight insurance CEOS

One poster read, "Wanted. Denying medical care for corporate profit”

The New York Times won’t publish any more pictures of his face 

or physique nor statement explaining his killing

But as Gandhi and King have reminded us, violence isn’t the answer 

The issue Mangione apparently sought to highlight has a nonviolent 

political solution: single-payer health care, or Medicare for All *

* America Will Be Obsessed With Luigi Mangione for a Long Time 

BY LIZA FEATHERSTONE, JACOBIN, 12.13.2024

Don Kingfisher Campbell

Seeing Stars

Driving from school

see on the sidewalk

teen Sid and Nancy cross

Further past Atlantic

little Prince practices

his wooden acoustic guitar

Then I just swear

a glimpse of young J-Lo

wearing a perfect skirt

Finally near my

destination I look in

the rear view mirror

Envision Eric Clapton

Steven Spielberg or

George Lucas getting older

Once more Rick Wakeman

only I feel like Jon

Anderson on the inside

Star Trek Poetry

when Chekov leans into a ship turn

when the teleporter is on the fritz...again

when Scotty launches into a brogued tirade

when the Enterprise shields are down

when Uhura adjusts her red miniskirt

when any minor crewmember on the away team

gets offed by a rubber-applianced alien

when Bones yells he's a doctor not a...

when a phasor is set on kill

when Kirk tears his shirt fighting for a space woman's kiss

when someone's communicator falls into enemy hands

when Tribbles are in season

when Khan raves on about Corinthian leather

when Sulu revealed he was gay years later

when Spock's eyebrow lifts

Unlike Stars

I can only imagine

The past in my head

I visualize you at night

Bounding happily the marble

Sidewalk in your red Music

Center work dress uniform

And you near the Echo

Park lily pads wearing

A delectably low-cut tee

With curve hugging jeans

A vendor taking a $2 summer

Polaroid of us on the bridge

And you in your frilly

Filled white blouse

Atop black leather skirt

Perfectly made-up to co-judge

A morning elementary school

Halloween costume contest

And you every day donning

A monochromatic medical

Assistant top with matching

Pants looking like a cheerful

Teenager as I drop you off

Pick you up at the clinic 

You all seem as real to me

As twinkles in the sky

Brain synapses of coupled

Constellations that drifted

Apart in the gradual entropies

Of light and dark years