“Don’t make me come up there,” he bellows at the sky. His face is murderous, the scowl etching deep lines into his forehead. The frown isn’t visible on his mouth as his thick beard covers from nose down.
“Darling, who in the world are you yelling at?” comes the soft, and slightly worried question from the woman leaning out of the sliding glass door. The light behind her casts her in an elegant silhouette and the burly man glances back at her, his scowl softening slightly.
“The damn twins are arguing again,” he mutters, jerking a thumb upwards towards the scintillating star-studded black sky framed by tall conifers.
The dainty woman arches a fine brow and glances upward. She doesn’t hear a thing; the forest is so dense and thick she can’t even hear the lake that is just a couple minute’s walk from the glamorous mountain home.
“I don’t hear anything,” she finally says, holding out her palm for him to take. He reaches out and his hand engulfs her, but he allows her to tug him back to the warmly lit interior. He gives one more ferocious glare back at the “silent” sky, then follows her back inside, sliding shut the door and pulling the blinds closed.
“Now where were we before you decided you needed to go out and yell at the sky?” she teases as she hands him back his half-drunk glass of wine and picking hers up as well. She sinks into the sofa and tugs him towards her.
“When Cass and Pol start arguing, no one can hear a thing,” he mutters, settling down next to her.
She just shakes her head, not having a clue who he is talking about.
But how is she to know she is sitting next to a god?
Lady Night in your velvet mantle so blackest blue
Diamonds and a moonstone jewel hang upon you
the finest in the night array your delicate self.
Master storm in his raging mists of grey and black himself
Scudding closer, the edges a wisp of mist
A hint of the power in the brooding black insist
A trickery to the hidden rage
He’s hiding behind his soft finery, a false stage
Trailing wisps mock his true force
Waggling a come hither finger at you in course
Drawing you into his darkness and destruction
A trickery of darkest seduction
Hide yourself from his stunning power
Tuck yourself in your hidden bower
Leave him to his raging and thunderous shouts
For there is no other safer routes
Escape from his stormy weather
And let him leave you far from his trailing tether.
I was out last night and the waning moon in the eastern sky with the bright stars was being chased by a monstrous storm to the west. The trailing, wispy fingers of it coming close. Within moments, the clouds had over taken the moon. I picture a delicate lady at the ball being overcome by the dark and dangerous duke… (I’ve read too many romances.) This is what came of it. The rhyme was by accident as I looked at the two lines that start the poem.
Tonight the sky is amazing. There is an almost full moon and a mountain sky filled with the most beautiful cotton puff clouds. There is no breeze and the crickets have started their chirping. I can even here a bird that I have yet to identify but he sounds sort of like he’s laughing.
I am always accused of looking at the sky nowadays. I’m always looking up, or remarking to someone how beautiful the sky is. My mother is forever asking me if all I ever do is look up. I have to blame her though. For years all I did was look down at the ground. I was always on the hunt for something shiny. And the common comment was, “don’t you ever look up?”
So, now I look up. I still look down. You never know when you might find that stray dime or quarter. The common penny. Heck, you might even find a washer or bit of shiny glass.
I like to think that I can relate to Shelley (Percy Bysshe) and his poetry being ethereal. While I’ve yet to read much of his, I did find it to be more focused on the air and light things.
I’m not as grounded as I probably should be. I spend way more time
daydreaming plotting about things that are far from reality. Yet, can you name a poet, writer, novelist, etc. that is actually grounded? They all have their moments of what could be termed insanity, though I would rather say it’s just creativity taking hold. Take Emily Dickinson, one of my favorite poets. She was more melancholy than others, yet there were moments of pure freedom.
That’s what I tend to do. I shy away from the gloom and dreary things in life. I think sometimes it will hinder my writing. I don’t have enough conflict.
Well, I’ll go back to my earlier statement. I blame my mother on why I always look up.
I’m an amateur astronomy buff. I have this thing about going out and staring up at the night sky and it can mesmerize me. Right now is the best time to be seeing some of the most wonderful things out there.
I have a statement that I like to tell myself and it’s something like this. My favorite constellation is Orion. My favorite thing to look at is the Pleiades, my favorite place to look is right into the heart of Sagittarius where the Galactic center is, and my favorite galaxy is Andromeda….. For me, looking at the stars is like taking a small step into the wonder that is God. Try sitting outside some night and staring at those incredible, amazing stars and try to fathom the greatness that is God.
It is impossible to not feel humbled in such a situation. The heart of the galaxy, the Milky Way is my idea of heaven. So bright, so perfect. It’s like this warm, fuzzy place. Can I explain it? Not even close.
And has anyone ever looked at the Andromeda galaxy? Can there be anything more perfect than a super bright galaxy floating on a diamond scattered black velvetness? I can stare at it for ages and still feel my heart pound in breathless wonderment.
I don’t get to be out stargazing that often. Mostly due to me liking to be in bed at night, but those times I do get out, I am amazed. Two years ago I went out into my back yard for about three hours at night. I was up till almost three in the morning. I was on a hunt for things I could see with my binoculars. It was one of those warm nights where everything feels amazing. And the sky was the most amazing I had ever seen it. I cannot begin to expound on how clear, how perfect, how wonderful it all was.
Do I sound like I’m raving? IT’s because I am. God’s creation is a wonder to me, and every time I look at the night sky, I see it.
When Iconsider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, The moon and the stars, which You have ordained; What is man that You take thought of him,
And the son of man that You care for him?