Out of Our Space

Fresh verse on offer, for pleasure, inspired by a mathematician within a fraction of seconds. This ties very neatly with Geopoetics on a more universal scale. And later thought of Edwin Morgan, the great poet from Glasgow. 

It is titled: Out of Our Space

Tell me again,

how far from our star to

the Earth?
So many zeros between

us, 

should we ignore

sleek speed of

light…

93 million miles away,

or a mere 9.3×10 to the power of 7 – 

or eight 

minutes, if

we manage to

harness

light

to

catch a 

glimpse of each sunrise.
How 

many stars,

rotating moons, elliptical rides, rings, or 

rocks 

in 

between

us and the unknown? 
Reset the clock in standard form and 

start

punching 

the right button.
Lerwick, 7 June 2016

fluttering (1)

 

Please mark a date in your diary, Compass Head, available on Amazon, will be celebrated at the Shetland Library in Lerwick on Friday 20 May 2016.

We – the poet, our Shetland Librarians and friends – have the beginning of a plan.

More to come, as dusk slides into a starry night.

 

Writer’s Corner

   
WRITER’S CORNER page updated in time for the season 🙂

Autumn/Winter 2015 

à cœur ouvert

Haunting moment,
tonight’s gale contained inside my chimney’s conduit. I hate this type of exercise – this woman trapped deep inside me can sometimes shine and find her words.

March

March is
my galley on fire,
final voyage,
my hellery –
March is a nightmare with
rainbows,
hell, tears & bliss,
a long
promise;
March is a month
I learnt to
loathe,
tarnished with blood,
loss of my future,
life loved
genes.
March is
a monster in
motion,
mechanism turned into
dread –
as I
dream of
cherry blossoms,
poet’s torn
eyes,
Sakura’s
world whirled in
a wind they
call
“Mistral”.

© Nat Hall 2015

dark land

rage au cœur

Au festin qui se prépare sans moi,
je dis, ma fois,
que tous les fruits gardent
leur goût, même
éparpillés par
la mer,
et
vu d’ici,
mon bout de terre,
dans ce ciel teinté d’or et miel,
mon étoile scintille,
garde-fou;

et si mes yeux défient
le vent,
s’adonnent
au soleil grenadine,
mon cœur s’esquisse à
la sanguine,
écoute
l’écho de ta voix
qui me murmure “chante avec
moi – croque la musique à
pleines dents”

Au crépuscule tout devient bleu;

l’horizon se perd à vue d’œil,
mes pieds imprimés
dans le sable,
mes larmes
gravées
dans
les
rouleaux;

en attendant
une nouvelle aube,
je te croque entre les étoiles –
quand Lyra
s’invite
à
table,
je lui sourie sans
dire mot.

La symphonie peut commencer.

-/–

Raging Heart

They’re feasting without me.

To this omen I will
now say that
fruits still
taste
even if
scattered by
the sea…
And
viewed from here,
sweet tongue of land,
in this sky tainted
honey-gold,
my star
still
shines,
guardian angel;

and if my eyes defy
the wind,
yield to this
pomegranate
sun,
my heart
can be sketched with
sanguine,

listens to echo from
your voice that once whispered
“come sing with me, crunch
through music like an
apple”

with twilight everything turns blue;

the horizon forgets itself,
my feet imprinted
inside sand,
my tears
tattooed inside
rollers,

and as I wait for
a new dawn,
I etch you
high in
between
stars –
and
when
Lyra comes
to table,
I just
listen..

Her symphony can start again.

© Nat Hall 2014

fractured bearings

when that poem sounds like an anthem

Strange feelings have filled my heart since yesterday. 
In the light of the spoon-fed world, I was saddened by the news of Scotland’s greatest poet the 20th century has ever met. Mr Morgan has inhabited my creative star ever since I collided with that visionary rendez-vous. 

Native American wisdom reminds us all there is no death – only a change of world

Very well. Let’s celebrate the poetics of such great man. Instinctively, I read it out to a close friend as a remedy to poison. His spoken world is alive forever. The only link I need to add is my favourite space poem of his… offcourse
Such moment of glory resonates forever. Unlike any rock or metal, it will neither erode or corrode… However exposed to the sea.

in-between Glasgow and Sandwick

But then, in the midst of that unforeseen eclipse, new constellations merge in innerspace… No collision. Funny enough, I was conversing with Norrie via FB when kindred spirits met in the rain, there on tarmac of some carpark before they decided to celebrate their connection over a pint… Friday night belongs to poets who paint one world and share visions. Tonight, Kenneth White on our lips, as we celebrated the poetics of our respective shores.That talented photographer from Glasgow can be found here: Ruth ‘s constellation

How grateful to Alistair Cook I feel tonight! Kindred spirits really shine and find their way through the ever expanding world we call cosmos.

Now let us re-count shooting stars 😉