"Fingers Crossed"

12:30 at the end of the day, I’m tired but there are no clouds for a change
So I look through the telescope and I can see the craters of the moon
They were denting the surface of the crescent with a deep glow presence
The ghosts of stars that lead the way across the sky
And I don’t want to let my eye leave the sight of the above so beautiful
As here on earth we are all in some real-life ugly trouble

The seas are rising and gently splashing at my front door and window ledge
Those tiny waves of reminders interrupt our lives twice a day
Taking away our empty milk bottles that once housed drink and now board messages
Quickly scribbled help signs that will hopefully reach the city sometime
A gentle post that will travel the seas and rest on the steps of somewhere important.

Reviews

[Andrew Glass]

This conjures up gentle images of a better life that many of us may never know. The descpriptions you've used are very elegant and serene, and they take us to places we long to be in. Your words flow together nicely and the advancement of the piece in natural. Good work.

[Rod Zinkel]

Just a quick note: I like the phrase ghosts of stars, as I have been wanting to use the image of seeing stars not as they are, but as they once were. So as the star may have died, we still see its ghostly image.

[Gary H]

I'm guessing that eventually that somewhere important is quite literally going to be very high up. Certainly I have sympathy for you living in Norwich being a very flat place and easy succumbing to the rise of the water - in some respects, the tears from those who have willingly destroyed our planet for the advancement of their own pocket (actually they are probably not the ones that cry) - but you get my point.
Once again a tender write and more impactful because of this.

[R J Askew]

You poem leads the reader's eye into your telescope and we see what you see. Once we so engaged, you have our attention for the subsequent points. The eyepiece of the telescope is a micro object that takes us to a much bigger scope, you then bring us back to this earth and the micro world of the bottle. It's like a great loop. There is a link of the moon and the tides also, with you and us on the edge of it all. And there is the clear link between the beauty you see in the sky and the more immediate ugliness around you and us. And, on second reading, I reckon the msg riding in the milkbottle in reality may also be a metaphor for the poem, which on balance is mildly optiistic. We the readers become the moon and your writing is the telescope. And we, all of us, like the real moon bear our craters as bits of life slam into us.

[Siddartha Beth Pierce]

What a lovely description of the celestial life as opposed to that which we live everyday. The longing is purely and beautifully expressed here. Thank you for sharing. Very lovely write.
Light,
Siddartha

[James K. Blaylock]

Wow, I really enjoyed this wonderfully written piece. I just loved the whole feel of it really. And I just adored these few lines greatly...

And I don't want to let my eye leave the sight of the above so beautiful
As here on earth we are all in some real-life ugly trouble


Thanks to Emily for sharing it with me. And thanks to you, for indeed penning it down.

[Debra Stevens Edwards (..]

At times it is easier to bring beauty to life with our words, then to face the realities of life. This expresses that very well While style maintaining a great flow and movement.
Debby

[Touché Armada]

Its unusual because I want to believe this is indeed about global warming but you open with "no clouds for a change" which skews the readers perception from the very beginning, as you head toward "some real life ugly trouble" as though the clouds are anything other than trouble, yet with the clouds perhaps we fail to see real-life ugly trouble? Are our perceptions toward the beautiful rain clouds so negative? I hope not, I just learned Australian sits on par with the Sahara for average sunlight, I knew if wasn't just me who cried for the rain for no good reason, we simply do not get enough, and now its confirmed.

And I wonder what will become of us if the seas rise and lap the foot hills twice a day with the tides.

"Taking away our empty milk bottles that once housed drink and now board messages"
This line is almost like an innocent suggestion at the message in the bottle endeavoring to reach out to any one cut off by the seas and its heights,,, but I also see something a little more sinister within it, as say the ruins of cities and the infrastructure washing in and under the tide and a message to any one who may have been lost from those said cities, all those modern Atlantis's.
A gentle post, a quiet request,,,, Who might make some change that it may never happen.. I'm ranting sorry, on one hand I think global warming, or the other I think something far more sudden like a tsunami or a rapidly commenced war with out mercy, and by the time anyone hears the news it just may well be too late, oh God I hope not.

[Cdnsurfer]

Hmmm. Very thoughtful piece, and sort of reminded me of Kafka's "An Imperial Message", one of favs:

An Imperial Message

The Emperor-so they say-has sent a message, directly from his death bed, to you alone, his pathetic subject, a tiny shadow which has taken refuge at the furthest distance from the imperial sun. He ordered the herald to kneel down beside his bed and whispered the message in his ear. He thought it was so important that he had the herald speak it back to him. He confirmed the accuracy of verbal message by nodding his head. And in front of the entire crowd of those witnessing his death-all the obstructing walls have been broken down, and all the great ones of his empire are standing in a circle on the broad and high soaring flights of stairs-in front of all of them he dispatched his herald. The messenger started off at once, a powerful, tireless man. Sticking one arm out and then another, he makes his way through the crowd. If he runs into resistance, he points to his breast where there is a sign of the sun. So he moves forwards easily, unlike anyone else. But the crowd is so huge; its dwelling places are infinite. If there were an open field, how he would fly along, and soon you would hear the marvellous pounding of his fist on your door. But instead of that, how futile are all his efforts. He is still forcing his way through the private rooms of the innermost palace. Never will he win his way through. And if he did manage that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to fight his way down the steps, and, if he managed to do that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to stride through the courtyards, and after the courtyards through the second palace encircling the first, and, then again, through stairs and courtyards, and then, once again, a palace, and so on for thousands of years. And if he finally burst through the outermost door-but that can never, never happen-the royal capital city, the centre of the world, is still there in front of him, piled high and full of sediment. No one pushes his way through here, certainly not someone with a message from a dead man. But you sit at your window and dream of that message when evening comes.

Well done. Rob

[Pema Dorje]

... an informative piece of the results of Global Warming.... by 2050 this vision will be true, if not before... yet we look up and dream of what could have been! Well writ visionary piece!