Sky
Fires
For
Carl Sagan & J.R.R. Tolkien
Stratosphere lights glimmer
dying amid comets & meteors
racing for eternal magnificence;
Saturn’s rings appear as ridged
as steel-hooped cage crinolines
relentlessly orbiting the planet.
Stargazing eyes wander, locate
ices, silicates,
rocks & gasses
winking &
twinkling in the heavens
like sparks flying
between steel tracks
& wheels from
lost stellar railroads
reduced to
flickering embers at dawn.
Punctual time
passes & spectacles dim
as we embrace
falling stars, take heed
of omens, suck on helium balloons & talk
like high wire
munchkins anxious to fly
on any trapeze without net, optimistic
as Carl Sagan, vibrant as Durin’s Crown.
Like fresh water washing filth & grime
from Moria
miners’ bodies, sunbeams splash
onto alley ways, anoint dixie dumpsters,
illuminate
foreboding shadows & abandoned train
stations,
reveal late hour astronomers’ grounded
hiatus:
telescopes at rest—celestial secrets on
hold.
Touchstone’s
Crown
Beggars regard me a lucky totem
like Quasimodo, King of Fools,
& applaud my squirrelish behaviour,
jingling orbs hanging off dangling
sleeve tips on a cap less oval than conical;
I knock over ashtrays & tea serving
sets
while limping through antique shops
pursuing gifts of universal appeal
to every bench braking, backyard
Esmerelda sunbathing on my block
or through fancy imagined climbing
redwood slat fences, legs straddling
the post cap & swaying in the wind
like Norte Dame’s cathedral bells
chimed into action, tintinnabulation
booming, oscillatory motions rocking
back & forth, side by side, to
& fro.
Cheers to jesters & April 1st
superstitions
that fuel creativity, abandon caution,
release the best & worst traditional
daring that encourages carte blanche
comportment, hugging inky corners,
breeding peacemakers in haylofts,
living to love, snapping chains, replacing
numbing restraint in uninhibited motely.
Viviane’s
Almanac
Viviane wrote erotic missives
on parchment paper, annotating her
text with interlinking marginalia
etched like medieval monk doodles
lost in a solitary creative process.
From illuminated manuscripts
to provincial real-world almanacs,
Viviane illustrated codex rubrics
with Lake
Lady strokes of ink:
magenta, indigo, ebon, green.
Decorating white space, chronicling
imagination’s foray into the land of nod,
Viviane sketched mermaids & gargoyles,
predicted love, expected rain, listed moon
phases,
tides & planet positions for farmers
& lovers.
Phantom
Ship Fibonacci
Moving along Puget Sound through
grey shadowy mist
a ghostly
vessel
parts
fog
like
dry
ice
water
vapor clouds
enveloping and
rising from the sea’s flat surface.
Rivalling the Fly Dutchman,
the dingy craft wanders,
hugging the
coastline,
rag
tag
deck
hands
casting
illusions
waving to total
strangers who dig for clams on shore.
Lisbeth
Flashing
Aunts and Uncles traded hosting privileges
treated Thanksgiving, Christmas, &
Easter
like passion plays sharing suffering &
mirth.
Cousin Lisbeth wore thin terry cloth robes
like Galadriel’s gowns after brief swims at
home
or compulsive showering morning, noon &
night.
She’d allow the robe’s flat cincture to untie
intentionally to torment & titillate
our innocence
whenever her parents went dancing with
mine.
An exhibitionist, performer & immodest
tease,
the girls usually looked away while the
boys
blushed at shadows…imagining curves.
We cousins quit almost all family
gatherings
to hang with classmates, whilst Lisbeth
explored
sexuality like a bisexual elf in a
Greenwich Village flat.
Alone in her house—without a captive
audience—
she completely dispensed wearing clothes at
all
& disrobed at high-end strip clubs
professionally.
Sterling Warner
An award-winning author,
poet, and former Evergreen Valley College English Professor, Sterling Warner’s
works have appeared many literary magazines, journals, and anthologies
including Danse Macabre, Trouvaille Review, Lothlórien Poetry Journal, Ekphrastic Review, and Sparks of Calliope. Warner’s
collections of poetry include Rags and Feathers, Without Wheels,
ShadowCat, Edges, Memento Mori: A Chapbook Redux, Serpent’s Tooth,
and Flytraps (2022)—as well as Masques: Flash Fiction & Short
Stories. Presently, Warner writes, hosts/participates in “virtual” poetry
readings, turns wood, and enjoys retirement in Washington.
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