Satellite

A fascination there is, from far back in time,
an enchantment of the strongest kind.
Cast by that nightly passer-by,
that glowing shape up in the sky.
Behold this line - "The maiden swoons
into his arms 'neath the crescent moon"
Or this - "Like the full moon in the sky,
thy beauty bewitching to the eye."
And hoarse whispers - "Horrors cold and stark
thus plague this land in the moonless dark!"
So, what gives this all-encompassing might
to a mere rock with borrowed light
that, to those who it's praises sing,
even it's absence is a remarkable thing?
Yet it stands in place of prime
in poetry, science and all, through time!
Ardent swains trill more than enough
of what the moonlight means to Love.
Men of science go to great lengths
to link it to our existence.
The moon even gets a kindly face
and in fairy stories makes it's place.
Witches, goblins and wolfish things
too fly in on these moonbeam wings.
Yet, the same moon in the day
is just a satellite on it's way,
unnoticed by the earthly swarm
robbed of all it's night-time charm!

Images

Behold the snowy manes
of a hundred galloping equines
flourishing in the advance
and BOOM!
break against the cliffs
and retreat fluttering
like a thousand butterfly wings.

Cast an eye on the glittering hordes
That many-hued swarm
dancing, whirling with joy,
the passivity of surrender....
A swooping descent! and
a crackling impatience to be borne
upon the fickle, chancy wind, again.

Look deep at that fiery glow
surmounted by towering pillars
of changeful mists and vapours...
Now drifting...now still..
Wave upon wave of majestic plumes
shot through with light piercing,
a glow all-consuming, as of an
inferno at World's end, far away.

Never was the World stilled,
nor indeed the Universe
unchanging....eternal...
'Tis but a flicker in the light of fancy
Seldom to seem what it is,
rarely to be what it seems.

Decision

Now is the time when
the path is divided,
an answer provided,
my fate is decided.

Now is when courage must prevail,
visions to uncover, thoughts to unveil.

This is the hour when
I must raise my voice
to block out the noise.
I must make my choice.

Whatever may come, be ready to face,
to fight every fight in this parting of ways.

There's always a chance,
a chance however slight,
that everything might
not end up quite right.

At the end of it all, you may just find
yourself left wishing, somewhere far behind.

Of a stranger in a strange land

No one is here, no one you know
No one is here with nowhere to go
No one is here to sing or to call

No one is here, no one at all

No one is here to ask you to stay

No one who hasn't yet gone away
No one is here to tell or to ask
No one to take a look beneath your mask
No one is here to pass you by
No one to smile and catch your eye
No one to see, no one to hear
No one to take the edge off of fear
No one at all on this cold, hard stone
No one to make you feel less alone
No one is here, no one you know
No one but you, with nowhere to go.

The Challenge of Learning

What a pity it is,
there's something amiss.
In the class where I learn,
all I do is yearn
to put down my head.
Better yet, go to bed.
To shut out the noise
and the teacher's voice,
with eyes tightly shut
dream peacefully, but (!)
for decency's sake
I must stay awake.
I must try to find
and reel in my mind
and put it to use
and staunchly refuse
a snooze to allow.
Though being sleepy, and how!
So, with eyes open wide,
a nap is denied,
and the battle is on
to stifle the yawn.

Loss

Sometimes, it's dark,
pitch-black, empty, deep.
A lightlessness painfully stark
.....frozen....
Step after step taken,
all there is, is the dark.
Sleeping shadows awaken
.....invisible....
Sounds unheard, sights unseen,
I feel them pressing in.
They are no more, but they have been.
.....lost....
Realities imagined, waking dreams,
subdued under the glare
of a thousand dark beams
.....intangible....
Desperately disappear, too terrified to stay.
Cloying fear, suffocating, and...
a spark winks into existence, far away
.....mockingly unreachable....
and fades.

WARNING!! to future idiots

Note: There's some things you should know before you read this. This poem is -
1. written in an unbelievably exhausted, and therefore delirious, state.
2. NOT meant to offend anyone!!! (especially not our dear reporters!!)
3. It really wasn't so bad working on this magazine :) great fun actually!


Envision, O Envision,
magazine so beloved!
I wish you'd get done with,
and stop messing with my head.
It's so hard to believe,
after all I've done and seen,
what drove me insane
was working for a magazine.
It taught me a lot of things -
No-one cares about skill,
it's all about STORY.
Also, editors can kill.
Copy-editing ain't so easy.
It definitely isn't fun.
Most reporters (here), with pens, are
like a monkey loose with a gun.
Be warned, future copy-desks,
to this job should you aspire,
make your will before you start.
There's a good chance you may expire.