bee-flies

[bee-flies]

A Nebula on Christmas Night

~ Luke Evans

Late on Christmas Eve, the snow was falling, snow was glistening by the porchlight. I dusted off the landscape lamps and listened to the chink-chink-chink- of chains. All the night, the world grew paler, but by morning blew away.

Wind raged on past sunbreak, and in the hedgerow, gray thrush played hide-and-seek in bitter fright.  I combed aside the leaves that roofed its home, feeling guilty in the end. All the neighbors had departed, leaving ghosts of Christmas lights upon the eaves and lateral trails ice-packed down the drives.

Through the bulging bay window I peered, and where the stockings once had hung now grew boxes stacked on boxes, and dust within. I imagined deep impressions on the dark recesses, were there light enough for shadows.

Outside, wrapped in scarves, I trained my telescope at Polaris, too dim for such as wise men. In between, I found a speck of scarlet, a cloud of interstellar dust and gas with a fine, faint ring of green.  My Christmas nebula, I thought, and wondered it, these many years since gone, the clouds had dissipated into space or gathered into one last hurrah, a star we soon would see.

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Logging into tumblr on September 1st

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Happy Birthday Harry Potter! (31 July, 1980)

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“ Harry. You, wonderful,boy.You,brave,brave,man.” Happy birthday Harry!

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31 July, 1980

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July 1, 1914, The Diaries Of Franz Kafka, 1914-1923

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Love of diamonds

~ Mangesh Naik

The beautiful gravity of train slowly moves through me

like a butterfly breathing, down the neck of light

Humming in the particles of rhythm makes the silver

louder than the reflection of my image looking back

warning me not to be unmeasured, unrestrained.

My hands point to an hour past midnight and the fact that

this train isn’t a train at all, neither lovely nor immortal,

fleshy and moving snake, creeping towards what little

is left of the pointlessly yellow sun.  Lips-love-lemons.  Valentine

spread.  A ray of light fractured inside the pink ash of red.

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Training

~ Mangesh Naik

Into a coconut coracle.  The music you have ever heard becomes

the music of becoming something new.  Walk the noose in ascending

order.  Inside the head, noon breaths play ashtray tunes.  So move

obscure and exploding.  Like forest than a tree.  Shadow of ribs into

the heart.  Sip the matter of time. A casual shrug of lung.  Luck in

the limbs opens the border of skin. into sooner or later of unknown kind.

Inside your skeleton you reappear. The same brown flesh soaked in mind.

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Bodies may wither, Minds may wane, But spirit is everlasting.

Clay Robbins

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idealism - the star is still there after it has died

Joey Rb

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The "Past" is mostly reminiscence of that which truly never was

David Edwards

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School Bus

~ Fain Rutherford

In early dark the girls climb into the steaming bus, its orange-yellow skin smeared gray with winter crust.

Tall see-through doors flap shut like a vacuum seal. The hissing pod hovers away. Red-lit and blinking, the starship shrinks with them into the alien dim.

Not an abduction exactly. They know the driver’s name, and he knows theirs.  Sleepy and grinning on fogged-up glass, they’re young enough to wave.

Still, it always takes an act of will to turn away and enter the day, knowing they’re out there in a universe undefended.

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Alive comes nature All despite the human race Not ours to ruin

Mariya Koleva

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I make myself.  Like underwater baskets, I am woven slow by hand, from coils of swimming serpents.

Fiona McNabb

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Climb atop the ruins Get to know your history Build your life from there

Lee Evans

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Do I have some news for you, Mrs. Bennet

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All Aboard

~ J. J. Steinfeld

On a quiet morning you are standing at the end of time a single frayed and faded ticket in your hand wondering where you will be going next the previous station was tedious full of dreariness and words you could not comprehend or translate even though comprehension and smooth translation were desired. Oh well, here comes the train or what looks like a train when you board and arrive you can offer a smile negotiate new truths offer a lifetime of excuses and see if the next time will exceed the last.