By happenstance a glance may say
we humans saw the light of day
in universe’s vast expanse
to personate our song and dance
within a fleeting earthly stay.
At night black velvet sky array
stelliferous with appliqué
might seem to firmament enhance
by happenstance.
Yet ‘midst the starry overlay
concomitantly underway
cause and effect their course advance
encompassing in nexus trance
connections cosmic, not at play
by happenstance.
So, not chance, but what a dance – and who(what) wrote the music? – mh clay
Five hundred twenty million light-years far
from Earth a meld of galaxies has spread
its multi-arms wide open ‘midst the star
Orion cluster in its wedded thread.
With limbs outstretched, in stellar reach enmeshed,
the astral realms seem grouped in fondness spree,
by constant star formation e’er refreshed,
as if united through affinity.
Mankind’s subsistence may revolve around
embrace of nature’s procreations rife
in cosmic regions or on earthly ground
a wakened sense of reverence for life.
That human beings be humane is key.
Could spheres celestial teach us harmony?
Couldn’t we learn to dance in turn to stop our constant crash and burn? (It could look like this.) – mh clay
The universe of time and space
is leading us on merry chase
as schemes are parleyed to and fro
in astro-physic quid pro quo
of scientific relay race.
We dwell in lilliputian place
within the heavens’ vast embrace
unfathomable be it so
the universe.
While here we spin in cosmic grace
with sight that cannot see our face
beneath a vault of indigo
in multiverse? ‘big bounce’ yo-yo?
from ‘Plato’s Cave’ we seek to trace
the universe.
From our cave in flickering shadow, we’re told we can see stars. – mh clay
Born in naked singularity,
Naked come and naked go we by,
Gravely lost in clouded clarity.
Could there be an end beginning nigh?
Time shall tell while its ways elude us.
Dark the warp of soul that might arise.
Bent event horizons delude us
Leading nowhere where a somewhere dies.
Ere singularity can zoom us
Past the bar of sole futurity,
Intelligence may coyly doom us
To entomb our last humanity.
When black holes mortal made mistaken
Steal the chance a cheeky fate to jar,
Then earthly promised lands forsaken
How will dreamers wish upon a star?
Life is precious in its rarity,
Yet the naked eye sees wrong as right.
Artificial singularity
Is a naked truth that’s now in sight.
Ofttimes softly sounds a muted voice,
Though its murmurs seem too faint to hear,
Whispering, ‘There still may be a choice.
Who says singularity is near?’
Choice, please! (Make no mistake about it.) – mh clay
Within the flame of cosmic scale,
a nebula beyond the vale
of tears and fears and random mirth
upon an azure planet earth,
vast hosts of stars are setting sail.
This great creative force all hail
when tracing course of stellar trail,
for ‘dust thou art’ in cloudy girth
within the flame.
Such sight stargazers can regale
with more delight than ‘cakes and ale’
and guide us to a sense of worth
in spark of human death and birth
as yet we write our living tale
within the flame…
The fires above inspire the fire within. (Check out the fire that inspired Harley to write this one here.)- mh clay
Upon our stage we romp and rage
in Goldilocks’s golden cage
amongst colossal cosmic crowd
with spark of liveliness endowed
of pomp and circumstantial fate,
whose worth we underestimate,
in constant discontentment caught
‘and sicklied o’er in cast of thought
so enterprises turn awry’,
with not an inkling as to why.
Oh, actors in this earthly scene,
what do your frantic antics mean?
‘The heartaches and the thousand shocks
that flesh is heir to’ come in flocks,
while nature tenders wherewithal
if we but list her earnest call
in lieu of inner outer din
that sends the senses in a spin.
Our little lives today may throng
‘this insubstantial pageant’ long
(to borrow varied Shakespeare tropes),
where humans share despair and hopes
on greater globe of bonny blue—
oh, rarest planetary hue!
And yet when all ‘our revels end’
this world will leave a stardust blend
behind, ‘to still a beating mind’
of poet bards midst humankind,
a ‘rack’, or wisp of cloud, as told
in Prospero’s discourse of old;
for sun shall take its final breaths,
as dramatized in stellar deaths,
to be a nebula newborn
celestial heavens to adorn
in evermore creation’s dawn—
yea ‘such stuff as dreams are made on’…
Leaning hard on the Bard, about our fate we prate. – mh clay
The courtly cavalier stood transfixed in a dead silence that echoed the somber stillness of my castle’s cataleptic enchantment. How could he be the arrant inherent inerrant declarant heir apparent he him hymn nara to my nari narayana duende dawning on she her hurrah it’s my prince charming knight in shining armor amor moribund minus white steed come doyen to …
Of starry stuff our lives were made
when supernova cloud cascade
in stellar burst of gases shed
with elements from which we’re bred
evolved to human escapade;
yet nature’s laws must be obeyed
so all that flourishes shall fade
for never-ending cosmic thread
of starry stuff;
mid vast celestial serenade
as music of the spheres portrayed
with majesty the stars o’erspread
create the living from the dead
in metamorphic masquerade
of starry stuff.
Our shenanigans from shattered star? Imagine! That’s what stuff we are. – mh clay
Yet as this new-sprung prince of undiscovered sterling qualities made to enter the immense cordon thorn lance-a-lot barricade the thicknightet hedge theurgically parted only to close again after his advance opening into redolent wild roses devoid of their prior barbed prongs. And even these sweetbriars bent aside and gave way until the now-present-prince found himself in my perfumed palace gardens …
Time and again at break of morn
a coral tone will dawn adorn.
Magenta heralds night’s release,
a halt in sunlight’s golden fleece
to moon and stars in darkness sworn.
When from the living left forlorn
our earthly mortal days are torn,
is this a mere unsung caprice
time and again,
no threnody on heavens’ horn
with being of existence shorn?
Or could there be a cryptic crease
as part of cosmic masterpiece
where all that died would be reborn
time and again?
Our search won’t cease for that cryptic crease. – mh clay
