Posts Tagged ‘Mars’

where landscape does

there is a shadow inside each pebble here.  no sun
will dare fade our place.

there is water making shape around each pebble sleeping here.
we accept sweet water haze like a river is.

there is a note a tone a harmony performing each pebble here.
lay your ear upon our shallow breath.

there are marching shoeless feet dancing each pebble here.
evenings we drink the sharp edges smooth.
there are hearts where each pebble slumbers here.  feel our
pulse the way stone seeds bide their time.

learn your face in the mirror sand.  we feast you here.
we are lost water where your shadows land.

there is a bending back, a reaching arm, a pinch of fingertips,
a heft in the palm, your keen eye beside each pebble here.

here, where we gather breath.
do you notice what shadows do?  have far strangers
at thirst, become this curving sky?


neil reid © august 2012

Easy, historic, to think of our moon this way.  However is there such, as being a love poem to (or with) our kin, farther reached red Mars?  Maybe that’s what this poem is.

And remembering the final closing scene from Bradbury’s “Martian Chronicles”, a moment of recognition renewed.

Written for the We Write Poems prompt #118,  Far far landings….
Write a poem, howsoever inspired, by one of the initial photo images of the far planet Mars as given us by our new, just landed rover Curiosity. (see prompt for photo image) (or click here for the full size image)

Read Full Post »


the pursuit of happiness

packing for mars seems the perfect thing to do,
more than over the moon, a fortnight at least away,
a perfect disunity letting the garden go to seed

turn your back and everything goes to rain,
falling deeds, erosion’s hoe, blankets scattering
soft sleep on a hard carpet floor

the preface, it fills one person’s looks,
meaning not what but how they see, you see?
riverbed pebbles being merely consequential history

we eat the world, a long long thread of it,
no body an island, yet water all around is the root,
real truth just as sprouting from an open palm

a hand sewn meal rising and tucking back
inside water’s shoreline face, constellations
we name as memories dot for dash

so we’ll lay in sweet socks and brimming full
only those delicate memories of no consequence,
just ripe for unknown harvesting arms

a bottle of breath, a loaf of shoes, a comb for
remembrance, an empty bowl for sleep, two hats
for heading east, pen and paper, words to map

come to my bedside at the end of all things
and I’ll tell you, unashamed, how it was to drink
and pass the cup, lips to lips, satisfied

neil reid © december 2010

Might be a part one, so it feels to me. I’ll have to leave the window open, see what else might arrive. Didn’t so much want to list what might be more obvious, but rather just let play the thoughts beneath those other thoughts. Getting lately in the habit of packing my bags, considering what honestly matters most to me. (yea, and always gotta make room for socks!) And wouldn’t we like to go to “Mars”? (even if it ends the way Ray Bradbury suggests)

prompt # 032
The Pursuit of Happiness
by staff@wwp

Read Full Post »