Mixin’

Hangin’ with the fellowship today

Mixing with the global culture’s blood,

Waiting till the price is right

In the early market ‘hood.

Lookin’ at the town hall,

Chisellin’ the stone;

Dreams of expansions,

Designs upon the throne

Along the streets of jumbled pedigree

In the narrow darknesses of the mine,

We recruit militia for the unseen, ceaseless wars

There’s truffles for the swine.

We look beyond our boundaries

Where wizards plot with silver elves

There’s fodder for the factories,

Silken ambrosia charms – of course – for ourselves!

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The Eyes of Night.

      What colour would I choose

For the eyes of my night?

That first-time, last-time,

Never-to-be-seen-again time light?

That appears only when the mighty

Winds and powerful wings

Of vacuum-space and eternal time

Throw dust-and-crystal shards

At the limits of my knowledge; those

That are the too-near boundaries

Of my massive ignorance. Lucky to be

One of many sometime-intelligent observers

I am, nonetheless, very alone in this crowd.

Feted, reluctantly, as master of phrase and

Meaning, I am unable find the appropriate word:

My brain too flooded with majestic dark skies

That sparkle, shimmer and shake without sound.

perseids

11/8/2013

Photosource: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/in-pictures-23680382