Posts Tagged ‘Fantasy’

From the past was born a future
using strands of thoughts inane:
greying fears, transparent notions
binding, merged with tangled pain.
Rising then, it lurched unfettered;
trod the road that lay ahead,
ribbon in the darkness calling,
grinding grit of words long dead.
Onward to those new tomorrows
scattering while on its way
seeds of madness finding nurture
from tears of some yesterday.

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Story time

A fellow was telling a tale
How he once caught a whale by the tail
“That’s a whale of a tale!”
Yelled Ahab looking pale
In a failed Melville tale not for sale

A fictional hero called Potter
In a magical world fought a rotter
Tom became Voldemort
A tyrannical sort
Whom they couldn’t pick up with a blotter

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The title is taken from the wonderful novel of the same name by the late Arthur C. Clarke

I’m racing now a light beam to the stars
Just passing Phobos and its planet Mars
No diamond sprinkled darkness lies ahead
For one whose corporality is shed

Free spirits have no conflicts that divide
No phantom shell exists where fears can hide
Released now that which long in fetters lay
Condemned to never seeing light of day

A wispiness constrained by will alone
A field of energy to mystery thrown
Among the patterns drawing it away
The living threads that guide it on its way

On Solar Two they wait who went before
The first to cross the ocean to that shore
I sense their joy that keeps me company
While I speed on in that infinity

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Summer coat

Now half the house is painted
The rest stands worn and tired
And rain and wind aren’t helping
To do what is desired
Then while I sit a-thinking
About what must be done
I also am reminded
There can be too much sun

Cars in space

Assuming a speed of sixty miles per hour

If you drive straight upwards
Space is an hour away
The Moon is somewhat further
Six months a trip one-way
And then the planet Venus
The nearest one of those
Would take some sixty years to reach
Too long, I would propose

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Sea Search

A girl hopes the sea will reveal her truelove’s name

Inspired by the Dutch comic strip “S1ngle” by Hanco Kolk and Peter de Wit (the number one in the title is not a misprint)

She wrote her name there in the sand
by water’s edge and sat close by
to guard her message for the sea
she hoped would understand her plea.

A large wave washed her name away.
She waited as tears filled her eyes.
The letters sank into the deep
and woke the one there from its sleep.

The hours passed but no answer came
and as the sun began to set
she rose with sadness hard to bear,
that space still captured by her stare.

Then with a sigh, she turned away
and glancing back with every step
she left the one she’d prayed might know
her truelove’s name and it would show.

A wave crashed on that lonely beach,
one glowing in the dark of night,
and as it slid back to the sea
his name in gold was there to see.

It faded in the light of dawn
but then as he came into view
the letters brightened and became ….
His heart leaped as he read her name.

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While sleeping I wake to the silence within.
The cells interacting can make so a din.
A quantum leaps over uncertainty’s head
And lands in tomorrow, today now instead.

The whiteness of black and the colours of grey
turn brightness of night into darkness of day.
The drawn curtains stand in the room upside down.
I see in the mirror my smile as a frown.

I climb up the stairs to the roof down below
and look out at stars from their internal glow.
The night warm but chilly is now two days old;
to west and to east there’s no sun to behold.

I fall from awaking and sleep not to dream.
Illusions are now just as real as they seem.
I walk on the ceiling, down walls to the floor
that whirls without motion no words can explore.

No way to discern when dimensions run free
an emptiness filled with what I cannot see.
As sanity leaves with the rest close behind,
this something, not nothing, remains undefined.

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The tower

I climbed a tower, by winding stair,
with windows through which I would stare.
Each view was different, some well known,
but many strange, worlds not my own:
bright orange mountains, blue sun’s glow,
realms where my brain just couldn’t go.
                         Then tired and with no end in sight 
                         I sat immersed in twin-moon’s light.
                         A figure suddenly appeared 
                         descending slowly, old with beard,
                         and long white robes that hid his feet.
                         He spoke, ‘So once again we meet.’
He saw my puzzled look and said,
‘I’m you but going down instead.
You’ve far to go but on you must.
You understand the need, I trust?’
‘You mean that there are more of me,
ahead, behind, how can that be?’
                         ‘A question I’ve asked often too,’
                         he said, ‘but no one had a clue.
                         If you, at last, can reach the top
                         perhaps the climbing then can stop.’
                         ‘You mean you don’t know what’s up there?’
                         I said with an accusing air.
‘All those you’ll meet have failed,’ he said.
No strength had we to forge ahead.
One sees above a brightening light
and windows there are dark as night.’
‘I no more know what’s there below,’
I said. ‘It seems so long ago.’
                         ‘None do,’ he said, ‘whom I have met;
                         an entrance would be my best bet,
                         or exit hopefully for me.
                         I guess I’ll have to wait and see.
                         Well, on you go. One thing I’ll say,
                         I hope we no more pass this way.’

In case you’re wondering, I can’t remember if there were cafeterias, restrooms, and means for excursions or even if they were necessary.

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Eighty years in eight hours
A lifetime as a dream
And just before awaking
Each time I hear that scream

Another night of living
A day of nearing death
Until the eyes grow heavy
And I take that last breath

It lies there in the darkness
One to be born again
When light returns with morning
And there’s an end to pain

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Still Life

The garden gnome seems quite at home
Just sitting there with thoughtful stare
Beneath the tree as still can be
With jacket green and trousers blue
Red pointy hat somewhat askew
His brown boots hardly worn at all
He welcomes those that come to call:

A hedgehog with a point of view
A snail with haste that seems undue
A bird that flying visits makes
A bee too busy to take breaks
And many others I’ve no doubt
That I do not yet know about.

Though of few words, it must be said,
He seems somehow goodwill to spread
And often when I happen by
I swear he looks with kindly eye.

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Poultry request

“An inside job”

The fox said to the chicken,
‘I’m going to eat you now.’
The chicken, pressed against the wall,
Could think of no reply at all
Until it felt the fox’s breath
And suddenly could see its death
Then standing quite unsteadily
It sang this to a melody:

‘Oh Mr Fox please don’t eat me
A plumper one’s next door
His name is George
On whom you’ll gorge
Much tastier, I’m sure.
I’m full of sharp things pecked with grain
I’ve swallowed and do still
So you might die
I tell no lie
From insides that can kill.’

The fox stood still a moment
And then spoke with a grin,
‘George pleaded with that same lame tale
To get under my skin.’

They found the fox next morning
It lay without a breath
A painful look upon its face
By far no pointless death.

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Lucky dip

I hear the voice that speaks no words
I see the form invisible
The inner one reveals a world:
A semblance of reality
I share through sociality.

It fell one night from outer space
And formed a crater in that place
A burning stone and there within
The seeds of life now to begin.

The hour was late; I told it so
And pointed to my watch.
The minute hand upheld my claim
Time only had itself to blame.

The garden’s growing – not in size
But everything therein.
It’s daring me now to compete
And try to keep it looking neat.

‘A penny for your thoughts,’ she said.
He said, ‘I hadn’t any.’
‘So now it seems you do,’ she said.
He said, ‘There’s just the penny.’

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Inspired by the intriguing film “K-PAX”

A light year is a moment
Immersed within the glow
While travelling that vastness
To leave and say hello

The stars in every colour
The planets large and small
The satellites in orbit
Strange vistas that enthral

I see through eyes of wonder
I feel the calmness there
I hear the songs of angels
I climb each golden stair

I search with eyes of sorrow
I hope with hearts in pain
I pray to gods eternal
I laugh with those insane

Two galaxies are merging
See countless stars appear
Cocooned some still are yearning
To light the way to here.

The film based on the novel by Gene Brewer concerns a psychiatric patient who claims to be an alien from the planet K-PAX. During his treatment, the patient demonstrates an outlook on life that ultimately proves inspirational for his fellow patients and especially for his psychiatrist.

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This hole it goes right through
Comes out the other side
Not too wide or too narrow
Its emptiness implied
An absence of what’s there
Outside its unseen skin
That’s clamouring to enter
But somehow can’t get in

This hole has size and shape
Although the ends it’s true
Extend out to infinity
Or some far point of view
Enigma some might say
With not that much to show
While hanging there in space-time
Unable to let go

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Hole in one

As far as I know, no holes were created or destroyed in the making of this poem.

If a black hole met a white hole
Would they dance around a bit
While the white one fed the black one
Into which it self might fit

With the black hole then expanding
Gorging on its paler friend
Would the white hole be ingested?
Its creating at an end

Or would it engulf the black hole
That could not contain its might
And would fill up much too quickly
To then blaze into the night

Perhaps forces would get tangled
And dimensions twist and turn
Till a strange new greyish something
Formed that might cause some concern

Not destructive or creative
Just another mystery
More equations mathematic
Mixed with science on the spree

From Wikipedia:

A white hole, in general relativity, is a hypothetical region of spacetime which cannot be entered from the outside, but from which matter and light may escape. In this sense, it is the reverse of a black hole, which can be entered from the outside, but from which nothing, including light, may escape.

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Pottering around

I couldn’t resist the pun

Not all is as to us it seems
in that strange world of wizardry,
of hocus pocus, spells, and charms,
where time and space needs must disband
when waves the wand in adept’s hand.

A magic old whence science comes
its language lost to modern times
can still raise at its best a smile
but creatures, gods, now out of sight
still haunt us in the depths of night.

Not all is as to us it seems
in that strange world where demons lurk
and angels fight though now alone
for man has nought to make a stand
without a wand at his command.

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Inspired by the film “The Discovery of Heaven” derived from the novel of the same name by Harry Mulisch. The poem is based only loosely on the original plot.

He searched for Heaven everywhere
each night by choosing one new square
of night sky where those islands lay
mysterious and far away.

His calculations suddenly
showed where it could and well might be:
a region outside time and space
that negatives of each embrace.

Alarm when there his thoughts were heard
bells ringing out with every word
of that which mortals was denied
until they came when fear had died.

Discovery would break the seal
destroy the spokes of Heaven’s wheel.
Duality derived from sin
would make the walls come crashing in.

It now must end what was begun.
What man had forged must be undone.
On burning wings their answer came
to silence in a burst of flame.

The stars still burn to light the night
and those of Earth still fail and fight
but gates of Heaven, now secure,
are closed to man for evermore.

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I float here in the womb of space
And look down on the wonder there
That would if not for one as I
Be beauty unseen passing by

An island home that man must share
With others for which he should care
A jewel against that velvet night
A sapphire lit by candlelight

One scarred and cratered follows on
As if a shield there to protect
Perhaps once also fair to see
A past still cloaked in mystery

Two locked in some divine embrace
Destined it seems in time to part
Will there be memories to share
When ended is this strange affair

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Riffs of remembrance

“Will I live tomorrow?
Well, I just can’t say.
Will I live tomorrow?
Well, I just can’t say
But I know for sure
I don’t live today.”

The above taken from the lyrics of “I Don’t Live Today”

“When I die, just keep playing the records”

Jimi Hendrix

Send me vibrations to seclude
The one who would my mind delude
Let breath of freedom end this feud
Release the dreams so long subdued


The sun burned down, night flew away
As stamping came the final day
The morning reached behind midday
And afternoon was here to stay

Night lost forever out in space
Fear gripped the remnants of that race
Fires raged, of water was no trace
As Nature wiped clean their disgrace

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All my own work I hasten to add

There was a famed tenor named Ford
Who wished to sing praise to the Lord
In a monastery grey
He decided to stay
But soon left when no one would applaud

In a house on a hill lives Aunt Jane
After climbing there, often she’s drained
But when once more below
Her cheeks are all aglow
From potential energy that she’s gained

There once was a bright statistician
Whose wife left him for a physician
Though the chances seemed high
That she’d one day come by
Now he’s just a plain mathematician

A cosmology student named Cole
Thought he’d found somewhere near a black hole
He was sent into space
To take shots of its face
It smiled briefly then swallowed him whole

Of books used by clerical brothers
The scriptures are read more than others
But for most it’s the case
That here in the rat race
Their old wisdom stays between the covers

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Painting by William Blake (b. 1757, London, d. 1827, London)
“Dante and Virgil before the Angelic Guardian of the Gate of Purgatory”

If Heaven’s up then Hell is down
and sure enough, the Earth has fire,
below the often-scorching soil
where flesh would burn and blood would boil.

Have I arrived in penitence
for sins somewhere along the way?
Yes, it could be so very true
that we were meant to serve as two.

Perhaps we’re at some crossing point,
halfway, to pass some extra test,
a lifetime here to pay our dues
to gods who still our pleas refuse.

How many times have we been here
together or so oft apart?
Some others seem familiar too,
a multitude just passing through.

I’m sure now Hell is quite close by
and Heaven still so far away,
a twinkle in some nighttime sky
to where one day our souls may fly.

Man hovers between good and bad
or good and evil if you please,
but fuse the two and recognise
what roams the heavens in disguise.

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