Thoughts from the pen.
Writers need to write, lets take that as a given, then before or when they are not writing they muse, mostly between endless mugs of coffee and far to many biscuits as well. They gather together strange elusive thoughts, which slowly compact into something about which they ‘might’ write. Once that happens the thought is transposed, the words allowed life and so spread across the page in a swirling unadulterated pattern that might even make sense on occasions.
The musing of a writer are not something to be taken lightly or for that matter to seriously, they might be ignored, they might make no sense or on the other hand they might be a spark to set others thinking or acting.
To muse is the doorway to living to feeling the blood pulse, the heart set to race and the pen flow or is that all caused by the coffee? So and despite the fact that most musings are never published as they rarely deserve to see the light of day in their own right, I have decided that the thoughts pulsing through the dark of a late night, when sleep or even rest was un-controllably absent, that they should have their little moment in the sun, so please treat the following with some sort of respect, even if you don’t like or understand the meaning hidden in the words if there is one that is? The starting point:- Nassa probes.
As a poet I make a great chef, so read this if you will with an open mind, don’t judge it as poetry, prose or the like, just take it as thoughts roaming out through the night.
All the best David Stevens
To Muse Is To Wonder.
Something by David Stevens
Darkness fills half the sky with night.
Sunlight flows over the rest so bright.
Clouds skitter drive hard.
Winds rustle the surface below.
Ocean surge tidal & alive.
The world revolves in its endless dance.
To drive the planet in a ballet of chance.
Life thrives on land and sea.
This world we see through telescopes afar
does not belong to you or me or even that far star.
It is a world existing, a world that’s free.
The life is nothing to you or me, its something bright
existing true, but in a foreign sky sometimes seen
By me or you.
Life in the cosmos waiting to be un-veiled.
A satellite passes swings by, ceaselessly searching,
hunting a foreign sky.
Recording the images not telling the lies.
Man will one day know and perhaps be wise.
Leave the world to grow as it wants.
One day it will give us a chance.
As life un-controlled develops anew,
perhaps it will come looking for me and you.
Who knows when or who knows why.
At least for now we should only look up at the sky.
And just Muse…
For those that understand, thank you
For those that do not, I am sorry.
For those that don’t care, well so be it…
To muse does not necessarily mean to make sense to all.
‘Beware the dark side.’ (Yoda).
May your God (s) go with you.