Eye, see the words through a screen
barring massless photons from
the faintest flutter of pixels
among a regimented reign of blazing
blankness.
Movement merges the margins,
in a rainbow of persuasion that
both sharpens and blurs as an
ecstatic dance of dreams across
open arms and hugging holds.
Chasing seeing with reading,
fast afront a wave of overlaying
lines and cascading craziness
in the space between, leaving
nothing seen but clarity enraptured.
There is too much to be seen
between the lines. Too many meanings
and feelings and screaming. Too many
thoughts of today, too many dreams
of tomorrow. Too many words go unseen.
Having mounted the fine veil to
deep mist, eye is unburdened from
the fineness of flickering freedom
to the locks of imagination closed
quietly around reason.
Eye, wake to the cheat. Look back
to the frozen moment before the world
fell away to the page, to the clawing
rage of all arguments towards emptiness,
sameness, blamelessness, namelessness.
The disapproving I of silence.
by Gareth Rosser
My best photo of the Orion Nebula, so far.
The Moon.
Jupiter and moons.
My best photo of Jupiter, so far.
Jupiter back in the night sky, August 2011.
The Moon.
Moon
View
Silhouettes
Lucky, Lucky Eyes.
it has to be a strength
of impossible life
to smile in the face
of infinite darkness
an overwhelming dream
finds our minds at the end
of a chain unbroken by death
but should we suffer
to flower, seed and pass
to drag on our ideals
is to steal all passion from
the future - to believe we
have a place that is sacred
is a sour, still reflection
on the water that in time
will always fall - all the better
to see the smoke and believe
it is rising from a fire
that we will never contain
though we all get to touch it
and burn with it a while
enough is enough
that we scourn those
who step up and say
what it is
to believe or not
to believe in faith
that has us flounder
on wild shores
at the edge of infinity
over a bottomless belly
of dreadfull darkness
forever falls away
under our feet
is the freedom to fall now
or fly for a little while
in hope, in wonder
in reality
in our own presence
over eons of evolution
to read of it's ways
and learn of it's messages
to the future, though
our lucky, lucky eyes.
by Gareth Rosser
And?
The integrity, of all of reality,
is twisted around a Father figure,
when we whirl about it's grandeur
to look for final answers.
A bright spark, ignites a flame -
but shatters into fragments all the same -
the dragon of matter in it's making, breaking
bonds of old and burning forms anew.
The revel in the detail - the
trouble it can cause - to question
lessons lasting in the learned lines
that asking groped for, in eternal fear.
And?
We are shaking, when the aching
mark of question, falls over, all anyone
can ever say - but numbers crunch us up
and turn us over.
An inward dive, a carbon rod -
rolled from the height of blown-up time
to a reaching arm, an open hand, an eager mind
to grasp it, turn and throw it.
The dance of fine tunes - identity
driven rhythms - all are given, and taken
for granted - without that awkward asking,
without any unknown dance steps.
And?
That's it. This is all there is -
and there is no more left to say - when
it is okay, to sidestep away from the
useless truth. The begging of questions.
