Astral Pigments of a Past Generation
Poetic thoughts about the night sky.
As the silence falls, when the night cloak covers the sky
With a serene darkness that illuminates the moon and stars.
Watch them dance
Watch them sway
Celebrate with the celestials
Thoughts of the existential
Though they seem like figments of your imagination
Know they are astral pigments of a past generation
Marvel their former existence
Offer them the due reverence
*
Thanks for reading!
Author's Notes: My good pal, Dana Crandell stated after the most beautiful thing I think I've read. Well, at least one of them that it was "just some thoughts".
No, sir. The above is "just some thoughts" compared to your poem!
For just because it's awesome, here is his magnificent thing.
I was at least partly inspired by his poem and partly inspired in a way by Cathy Holmes' sublime Caffeinated Kiss:
This is something that my brain managed to come up with when it's not being warped by my tall order NaNoWriMo scatterepistolarymulti-narrative-shouldn't-be-doing-it-as-a-first-novel-attempt.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed my thoughts.
Here are some more:
You can also check out the rest of my work here at my profile.
About the Creator
Paul Stewart
Scottish-Italian poet/writer from Glasgow.
Overflowing in English language torture and word abuse.
"Every man has a sane spot somewhere" R.L Stevenson
The Accidental Poet - Poetry Collection is now available!
https://paulspoeticprints.etsy.com
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Masterful proofreading
Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
Keep reading
More stories from Paul Stewart and writers in Poets and other communities.
His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress3 days ago in Poets
Whisper of the soul
In the quiet of the night, where shadows softly creep, Whispers of the soul arise, from the depths they leap. A heart encased in silence, secrets buried deep, Yearns to find a voice tonight, through dreams it starts to seep.Beneath the veil of darkness, where stars like diamonds gleam, The poet finds a sacred space, a sanctuary of dream. Here the words flow freely, like rivers to the sea, Confessions of a restless heart, seeking to be free.The moon, a silent witness, to the outpouring of the soul, Illuminates the paper, where the poet takes control. Each line a breath, a heartbeat, each stanza a release, From the chains of guilt and sorrow, finding sweet peace.Ink bleeds onto paper, like tears upon a face, Each word a step towards redemption, a journey to embrace. The past, a heavy burden, begins to slowly lift, As the poet pours out honesty, a most precious gift.Confession is a tender act, a moment fraught with grace, A mirror to the inner self, revealing every trace. Of hopes and fears, of joys and pain, of love both lost and found, A tapestry of human life, in words it is unbound.With every stroke of pen, the shadows start to fade, The light of truth cuts through the dark, where secrets once were laid. The heart, now lightened of its load, begins to gently soar, Freed from chains that held it down, it finds the open door.In the silence of the night, a voice begins to rise, A melody of honesty, sung to the starlit skies. The poet’s heart, once burdened, now beats with steady calm, For in the act of confession, it finds a healing balm.The power of the spoken word, of truths that must be told, Transforms the pain of yesteryears into a heart of gold. Each line a thread of courage, woven into verse, Creating from the wounds of life, a blessing, not a curse.The night grows ever darker, but the heart is filled with light, For in the act of baring all, the soul takes fearless flight. It dances with the memories, it sings with newfound grace, It finds within the shadows, a bright and sacred space.Confession is an art form, a canvas for the soul, Where every hue of human life finds its rightful role. The poet paints with honesty, each stroke a vital part, Of the masterpiece of living, created from the heart.In this act of revelation, there is a strength unveiled, A testament to human spirit, where love has not yet failed. For in the darkest moments, when truths are hard to speak, There lies the greatest courage, in the hearts of those who seek.To find within the silence, a voice that's pure and true, To speak the words of healing, to bid the past adieu. The poet’s pen is mighty, a sword against the night, With every line of confession, it brings the soul to light.The dawn begins to whisper, the night prepares to yield, The poet’s heart is lighter, with every truth revealed. For in the act of confession, a miracle is found, A soul reborn in honesty, now walks on sacred ground.So let the words flow freely, let the soul unburdened be, For in the sacred act of truth, lies the path to liberty. The poet’s heart now knows this, in the quiet of the night, That confession is a blessing, a source of purest light.
By OJI CHIEMELA DIVINE about 19 hours ago in Poets
Timothy
My fingers inch closer to the keyboard, itching to obliterate a day's worth of work. It's some of my best writing I've done to date, but at what cost? The words seem to bleed, dripping onto my desk. For a millisecond, I'm sitting in front of a crime scene, looking at dead, begging eyes. Why? Why me?
By Alexandria Stanwyck4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (10)
That is beautiful Paul! Great work! I will look on the night sky with new eyes!
Holey moley, my friend! You just took one of my favorite subjects and created a masterpiece! This is drop-dead gorgeous, and deep! If I provided even one iota of inspiration for this, I'm one proud puppy! "Well done" doesn't begin to say it.
Oh my gosh. F L A I L Y F A C E!!!!! WOAH! Ok, this one knocked my socks off. I'm pretty in love with the stars, and you just gave me more reasons to swoon. Beautiful piece, pal! I've spent so much time thinking about the fact that a star I'm looking at could possibly be long gone, and that maybe the stardust of a dead star came to earth and became part of me, and maybe as I'm staring at the night sky I'm looking at a reflection of myself in the stars. Does that make sense? Like, the light from that star is so far that we are just seeing it even though it is long gone, but it's maybe already a part of us...Just some things to ponder. lol! Thanks for writing this one, it's a BEAUTY! But really, everything you write is.
No wait, you got a point there. They indeed are astral pigments of past generation because what we see is actually their last because of how long it takes the light from them to reach us! Loved your poem! Very Paulitical! 🍩🥐 Paulitical was coined by Novel Allen in her piece Puzzlmentationismitis.
You’re doing an epistolary as a multi-perspective narrative?! 😳 No pressure. Sheesh! Nah..I’m sure it will be amazing. How is it going? Sorry got a bit distracted. Beauty of a poem though! Well done! ☺️
Appreciate the distant past as it blazes into our present.
Spectacular & loved it!!!❤️❤️💕
Oh, I just read Dana's and this is a superb match to it. Turning it back around, the ancestors, the darkness the distance of the stars instead...all countered to his focus on the sunrise, his light lasting on future generations...just, great job. It's beautiful.
This is simply beautiful. And thanks for the shout out, buddy.
Captured so poignantly - No 'complaints' this time, just relishing in the loveliness 🤍 I can continue to eat and sleep ;)