Astronomer

I wander all alone and play with pebbles on the beach,
and wonder at the Milky Way which other men may reach.
Though thither I won’t wend my way, I try my best, I teach
to others how the planets play; upon their orbits preach.

What seems a complex interplay of matter dark and light,
as magnet must attract â€" I stay for days before stars bright
a billion light years far away, and find therein delight,
dwell on gravitational sway on how mankind well might
discover, reinvent, doorway beyond the Moon and Mars,
and foray further far to lay its seed among the stars.

From Hubble's bubble telescope to images online,
from NASA exploration's scope and information mine,
to Voyager myope, the mind curves off from fixed straight line -
thought processes must cope with dark hole, quasar, quark or dine
on solar storm or grope with RNA's helix grapevine
unknown to sect or pope or falsehood's pantomime,
to those who slouch about and mope, ignoring the sublime.
Imagine bio-allotropes which ‘human’ redefine,

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Sally G

Sowhere to the south of new york city
Lies the friendly state of tennessee,
Down in nashville toen I met a pretty
Who made a pretty big fool out of me.
And they call her sally,
Sally g, why dyou wanna do the things you do to me?
Youre my sally, sally g
Took the part that was the heart of me, sally g.
The night life took me down to printers alley,
Where sally sang a song behind a bar.
I ran my eyes across her as she sang a tangled mime,
I used to love to hear her sweet guitar.
And they call her sally,
Sally g, why dyou wanna do the things you do to me?
Youre my sally, sally g
Took the part that was the heart of me, sally g.
Me and sally took up,
Things began to look up,
Me and her were going strong.
Then she started lyin,

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song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Great Beyond

(berry/buck/mills/stipe)
Ive watched the stars fall silent from your eyes
All the sights that I have seen
I cant believe that I believed I wished
That you could see
Theres a new planet in the solar system
Theres nothing up my sleeve
(chorus 1)
Im pushing an elephant up the stairs
Im tossing up punchlines that were never there
Over my shoulder a piano falls
Crashing to the ground
And all this talk of time
Talk is fine
And I dont want to stay around
Why cant we pantomime, just close our eyes
And sleep sweet dreams
Being here with wings on our feet
(repeat chorus 1)
(chorus 2)

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song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lamentation on Lost Love...

The shrill serenades
drifting from flutist’s clarinet
rush to dance with the rhythmic beats of the wedding drums.
Festoons of golden marigolds bound with mango-green leaves
auspiciously dangle at the decorated doors.
Tear smudged pearl-drops drip from your hazel eyes
and rivulets of kohl streaming down your rosy cheeks
moisten your henna-adorned hands,
while pantomime-faced guests flock to witness
the ceremonial wedding of two strangers

Dressed in glittering gold-dusted wedding robes,
he will arrive on a galloping white-maned mare.
and will lead you to take matrimonial vows,
while your dainty lotus-petals feet
embellishing silver-belled anklets
will follow him to circle the holy fire seven times.
Then both of you will metamorphose
as ‘man’ and ‘wife’…

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poem by Bharat Trivedi
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The Show Must Go On

Empty spaces - what are we living for
Abandoned places - I guess we know the score
On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for...
Another hero, another mindless crime
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime
Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore
The show must go on,
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking
But my smile still stays on.
Whatever happens, Ill leave it all to chance
Another heartache, another failed romance
On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?
I guess Im learning, I must be warmer now
Ill soon be turning, round the corner now
Outside the dawn is breaking
But inside in the dark Im aching to be free
The show must go on
The show must go on

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song performed by Queen
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Last Leap

ALL is over! fleet career,
Dash of greyhound slipping thongs,
Flight of falcon, bound of deer,
Mad hoof-thunder in our rear,
Cold air rushing up our lungs,
Din of many tongues.

Once again, one struggle good,
One vain effort;—he must dwell
Near the shifted post, that stood
Where the splinters of the wood,
Lying in the torn tracks, tell
How he struck and fell.

Crest where cold drops beaded cling,
Small ear drooping, nostril full,
Glazing to a scarlet ring,
Flanks and haunches quivering,
Sinews stiffening, void and null,
Dumb eyes sorrowful.

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poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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Shadow Of A Man

Mirror mirror upon the wall Im asking you,
Who is the most confused of them all?
Mirror mirror subservient twin screams back
At me you.
You sick flawless mime, I want to break you
Yeah, youre a clever one...
Is this a tool, can I step through, to find
Another plane,
Or just a shadow of a man
A superficial tool, to support the vanity,
Of weak, when you dont love yourself
If lifes as painful on your side, Ill break your
Existence and cut through mine
Youre a clever one
Is this a tool, can I step through, to find
Another plane,
Or just a shadow of a man
Are you my brother, you look like me,
Trapped inside another world my lost twin
A superficial tool, to support the vanity,

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song performed by Mudvayne
Added by Lucian Velea
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Impact Tracked

The century snailed onwards in its slime,
or so it seemed to those who actions mime
as if they were the puppet masters, - yet
stay strung dolls dangling on the jess of Time.

The pendulum of history now swings
to, fro, with speed, more humble posture wrings
from those who ‘take the current when it serves’ -
for Change is in the air, waits in the wings.

So as we witness Nature’s thunder hurled.
Pandora’s box unlocks tornadoes curled, -
an angry retribution will reward
Mankind for the abuses of our world...

Out of thin air there sudden springs alive
a windy wink turned category five,
son of sun, air, and warmer water which
blows minds away, - no sense to stay or strive

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Stranglehold

Can I get you to give me a minute of your time?
Can I get you to slip me the answer?
Can I get you to slow me a little of your mime?
You were always a very good dancer
Id be happy to show you a bit of what I found
Id be happy to share in its beauty
Id be happy to lay low inevitably bound
I would only be doing my duty.
I wait, I wait, I can wait, I can wait back in the bar
I can wait, I can wait , I can wait back in the car
Ill be waiting for you
Stranglehold, you know youve got on me
I dont want to go without you.
Stranglehold, youve got me where you want me
But I want to know more about you I want to know more
About you.
Are you willing to wager a little of your life?
Are you willing to take such a gamble?
Are you ready to walk on the edge of the knife?
Then I think we can skip the preamble.

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song performed by Paul McCartney
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The Dwarves

Loke sat and thought, till his dark eyes gleam
With joy at the deed he'd done;
When Sif looked into the crystal stream,
Her courage was wellnigh gone.

For never again her soft amber hair
Shall she braid with her hands of snow;
From the hateful image she turned in despair,
And hot tears began to flow.

In a cavern's mouth, like a crafty fox,
Loke sat 'neath the tall pine's shade,
When sudden a thundering was heard in the rocks,
And fearfully trembled the glade.

Then he knew that the noise good boded him naught,
He knew that 't was Thor who was coming;
He changed himself straight to a salmon trout,
And leaped in a fright in the Glommen.

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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Christmas,1870

Heaven strews the earth with snow,
That neither friend nor foe
May break the sleep of the fast-dying year;
A world arrayed in white,
Late dawns, and shrouded light,
Attest to us once more that Christmas-tide is here.

And yet, and yet I hear
No strains of pious cheer,
No children singing round the Yule-log fire;
No carol's sacred notes,
Warbled by infant throats,
On brooding mother's lap, or knee of pleasèd sire.

Comes with the hallowed time
No sweet accustomed chime,
No peal of bells athwart the midnight air;
No mimes or jocund waits
Within wide-opened gates,
Loud laughter in the hall, or glee of children fair.

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poem by Alfred Austin
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The Mystic’s Christmas

'All hail!' the bells of Christmas rang,
'All hail!' the monks at Christmas sang,
The merry monks who kept with cheer
The gladdest day of all their year.

But still apart, unmoved thereat,
A pious elder brother sat
Silent, in his accustomed place,
With God's sweet peace upon his face.

'Why sitt'st thou thus?' his brethren cried.
'It is the blessed Christmas-tide;
The Christmas lights are all aglow,
The sacred lilies bud and blow.

'Above our heads the joy-bells ring,
Without the happy children sing,
And all God's creatures hail the morn
On which the holy Christ was born!

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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Pompeii And Herculaneum

What wonder this?--we ask the lympid well,
O earth! of thee--and from thy solemn womb
What yieldest thou?--is there life in the abyss--
Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell?
Returns the past, awakening from the tomb?
Rome--Greece!--Oh, come!--Behold--behold! for this!
Our living world--the old Pompeii sees;
And built anew the town of Dorian Hercules!
House upon house--its silent halls once more
Opes the broad portico!--Oh, haste and fill
Again those halls with life!--Oh, pour along
Through the seven-vista'd theatre the throng!
Where are ye, mimes?--Come forth, the steel prepare
For crowned Atrides, or Orestes haunt,
Ye choral Furies, with your dismal chant!
The arch of triumph!--whither leads it?--still
Behold the forum!--on the curule chair
Where the majestic image? Lictors, where
Your solemn fasces?--Place upon his throne
The Praetor--here the witness lead, and there

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poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Faith Salons (feat. Brenda Kahn)

in the faith salons they do your nails for fifteen dimes a bottle, where
someone in the darkness waits for your arrival.
in the faith salons the deals are struck, making heroes out of dust and clay.
the man gives you sixty seconds on the dollar, and walks away.
in the middle of your book of ages you write your dreams down to the letter.
tired of second chances and singles dances.
her robes were purple velvet feeling like the king of cairo.
prisoners to fools and slaves to paper gods.
in the faith salons....
the books of massacres and natural disasters,
beguiled by belligerence learned from the dancing masters.
the child on the train was a mimic mime of babble.
the mother knitted sweaters that the child would unravel.
in the faith salons....
they have medicines for madness, madness caused by drugs,
something for your headache and a spray to kill the bugs.
you walk the catwalk of polyphony, and your charades of destiny.
to whose myth of creation will you finally fall upon your knees and cry for forgiveness denied.
in the faith salons....
she'd appear like a belligerent ghost in my dreams,

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song performed by Jeff Buckley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Not Quite Dawn

Not quite dawn, night seeping out of the blue,
troubled sleep, no stars, and you, a week gone,
the whole universe applying its laws to your absence
which is the silence everything returns to like water.
I have never touched you, so my fingertips
can still play you into existence on a keyboard,
though the loss of your voice is a dead bird,
and I am a loose thread of blood in a labyrinth
of motherboards and micro-chips like me
who can’t find a way out of themselves without
turning away like a planet from its own stars.
How quickly the light comes, and the darkness
bleeds away like a love-letter under the door.
No eyes. No hands. No skin. No hair. I am
not even the ashes of a cleft witching wand
that went looking for water and caught fire instead,
and we have shared only the light of the mind
that paints a world with the shadows of a ghost,
and might only be the last habit of an amputee to leave,
a mere mime of the way our eyes make us see.

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poem by Patrick White
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These Late Night Sessions With Myself

These late night sessions with myself
that crowd the world out
to make room for me to be alone
delinquently with myself
while the rest of the town sleeps,
barring a cabbie, a cop, the grocery clerk
that works at the all night Mac's Milk.
Can't sleep.
My pillow's a hive of killer bees.
I'm swarmed by the lethal trivia
of high-maintenance anxieties.
The picture-music's running the rapids
in a jazzy clash of high hats
and I was hoping for something like Paul Simon.
The medium waits like a seance
for me to appear
like the message that was summoned.
Something resonates like a wavelength
from a tiny point in space
and calls me home like a Martian rover

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poem by Patrick White
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Sisphyus (Greek Fire)

No sword could sever the lines that made up his clever rhymes
he would tackle any battle and put his opponents in shackles
and he did this consistently, like each and every time
never mind some of the mimes who would copy his movements
they would try on his shoes but they just couldn’t do it
they would try out his flow but it just wasn’t fluid
they would try out his style but they just weren’t suited
'cause the cases they were making always needed improvement

but back to the music and our talented lyricist
whose acclaim bought him fame and many, many richeses
his name was on the brain more than formulas on physicists
but critics said his songs all ended up like Sisyphus

“For example, ” they would say as a preamble to delay
the coming attacks on the samples they would play,
“you said:
‘I gotta lyrical skill that gets betta & betta
and betta & betta until I run out of lettas
it’s how I show felicitation

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poem by P.R. Prosper
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The Deodand

What are these women up to? They’ve gone and strung
Drapes over the windows, cutting out light
And the slightest hope of a breeze here in mid-August.
Can this be simply to avoid being seen
By some prying femme-de-chambre across the boulevard
Who has stepped out on a balcony to disburse
Her dustmop gleanings on the summer air?
And what of these rugs and pillows, all haphazard,
Here in what might be someone’s living room
In the swank, high-toned sixteenth arrondissement?
What would their fathers, husbands, fiancés,
Those pillars of the old haute-bourgeoisie,
Think of the strange charade now in the making?
Swathed in exotic finery, in loose silks,
Gauzy organzas with metallic threads,
Intricate Arab vests, brass ornaments
At wrist and ankle, those small sexual fetters,
Tight little silver chains, and bangled gold
Suspended like a coarse barbarian treasure
From soft earlobes pierced through symbolically,

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poem by Anthony Evan Hecht
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Evariste Galois

A duel, only mist will intervene,
Two men, a line of numbers span between,
The field in which they stand, a complex plane,
Which maths equations set this tragic scene?

Not twenty-one, a headstrong youth in vain,
Would rather give his life than bear a stain,
A thwarted love and challenge made in haste,
A brilliant, yet impulse blighted brain.

Diverse mishaps of fortune interlaced;
Political conspiracy is traced,
Rejections academic, mental blot,
A father who could never be replaced.

Equations may be solvable or not,
Republicans may fall in twisted plot
Solutions may be simple or obscure,
A genius may die by pistol shot.

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poem by Diane Hine
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Dreamcatcher

There are no dreams that go astray,
there is no duty one must pay,
sleep taps spontaneous recall
unwraps capped limits one and all,
discarding strictures though men say
obey.

Fey mind behind blind mask may rise
to challenge stereotypes, surprise.
Imagination's magnet makes
light of past downcast, fast mistakes,
inner orbits [b]ring twinned sway
night, day.

One hand may weave a web as fine
as silken spider's, line by line,
mind mesmerized, net-knit, winged, may
hoodwink [l]one hand when interplay
is woken by unspoken sign
today.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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