Archive for the ‘Space’ Category


Sunday, July 21st, 2019

wave whispers to the wind
worship my taste on your tongue
lift me up to paradise
where we run naked
play with promises of pleasure

sun embraces moon
heart and soul in rhythm
together dance depths

passion drunk
we sleep

By Viva Andrada-O’Flynn


Sunday, July 21st, 2019

By J.M. Strother

Amy squinted through the eyepiece. The glow from the city dimmed the stars, but the view through Mike’s telescope was still awe-inspiring.“The tail will be visible to the naked eye by late next month,” Mike said as Amy stepped away and turned her face skyward. Mike took his sister’s place at the optics. Eurus was a bluish-white smear just off the star Tucana.

“I never even heard of the Centaurs before,” Amy said as she sat down on the grass.

“You’ve heard of Chiron?”


Mike stepped around the telescope and sat beside her. “It’s a Centaur. People think it’s some kind of moon for Pluto or something, but it’s not. It was the first Centaur they discovered. They find more all the time.”

She looked over at Mike and smiled. Her big brother was now famous – the seventeen-year-old amateur astronomer who first discovered this new outer solar system body. She could not help but feel some pride for him.

As the person who discovered it Mike got to pick its name. She wanted him to name it Amy, but he just laughed at that. He chose Eurus – the Greek god of the southeast ill winds.

They both laid back and gazed up at the stars. It would not be long before their parents called them back to the campsite.

“What will it be like when it gets here?” Amy asked.

He turned his head away, a tear escaped from his eye. “Well,” he said, “things will be different.”

The wind shifted and smoke from the burning city below began to obscure the sky. ~ © 2011 by J. M. Strother, all rights reserved.

Dune Box

Sunday, July 21st, 2019

Fear is the mind-killer

Said Muad’Dib of Dune

Just like the film’s budget

That stretched up to the moon

Put your hand in the box

He was ordered by the Haderach

To try to prove him worthy

To open time and space’s locks

His hand went it all brave and fit

Till itching turned to burning

His flesh peeled and bubbled till

His mind could take not more of it

The moral of the story is very clear

Is if you’re approached by a stranger

Asking you to put your hand inside a box

Don’t be stupid and give in to peers

As films go it moved me as teenager

I dreamt of special powers coming from my hands

But the only thing that’s stuck with me

Is to see all holey boxes as DANGER!

By Jason Conway

The Colour of Writing

Sunday, July 21st, 2019

Purple prose
bruised and dowdy
Awaiting its glory
By bleeding out the joy

White fluffy prose
Of sugar spun lace
Melting on the tongue
Insubstantial and unsatisfying
Making you fat and hungry for more

Green prose
Innocently jealous
Wanting what will smother
The voice
Young and tender sap
Rising to the stars

Under A Full Moon

Sunday, July 21st, 2019

Full moon up above the starlit night sky.
The ocean below is illuminated by the moonlight.
The waves crash lightly on the beach below.
I am on my balcony overlooking the moon.
The moon is a striking sight!
I can see the cratered surface clearly
Amongst the shaded and light surface of the sphere.
What a wonderful sight!
It almost seems unreal
Like a cardboard cutout against matt-black wallpaper in the heavens.
I can hear the hissing of insects below,
The sound of waves crashing,
Such beautiful sounds.
When I see the full moon I think of you,
How you moved me from the start.
The night is as black as your hair,
Illuminated by the silver moonlight,
Like the twinkle in your eye.
Silver against black.
The stars glimmer like the twinkle in your eyes.
As natural as we are together is as natural as
The waves crashing against the beach.
We touched upon something under a full moon.

by Chris Boman.


Sunday, July 21st, 2019

You single spherical satellite
one moon orbiting our world
As the sun moves across your face
leaving traces of earth shadow
your phases form;
crescent and sickle; half-moon and full,
the eternal dance of the month’s return.
You only show us one side of your face
one bright aspect of your dual personality.
The speed with which you spin is always
equalling your orbit, so, that shyly and
slyly you keep your other side hidden.

Although you pull the tides of our oceans
our gravity causes moonquakes below
your crust…
your features remain immobile as your
bleached surface shines silver in the dark
a lamp for lovers, a mythical mood maker,
our life-cycle mother.

Josephine Lay 2019


Sunday, July 21st, 2019

In the silent, comfortable company of nobody

Naked, I immerse myself ‘til soaked in silver light that falls

Is the Moon looking at me?

Quixotically, quicksilver, time passing all too soon

And I’m dancing with a salacious, silver, shining ball

Am I looking at the Moon?

Bright, so blinding bright that I cannot see

Insane, exotic madness initiates its call

Is the Moon looking at me?

The sublime lines of Claire de Lune

Hypnotic highs and lows envelope me within its thrall

Am I looking at the Moon?

A once-dark, haunted landscape becomes a white sea

Shimmering grass and tall trees covered by a ghostly grey shawl.

Is the Moon looking at me?

In a luminous looniness drunken swoon

I experience the whole world so differently

Am I looking at the Moon?

Or is the Moon looking at me?

by Stephen Thatcher

The Echo

Sunday, July 21st, 2019

I saw the echo scamper ashore

It was wet and cold and so alone

I saw the echo sit and cry

Though no eyes it had the tears still poured

I smelt the echo as vibration

Thrumming and strumming a silent sound

I smelt the echo in pinks and mauves

Lost in sensation of colours blurred

I tasted the echo in sugared tones

Angelica, cinnamon, walnut swirl

I tasted the echo with bitter rind

Enclosed the centre of withered pith

I scensed the echo in the air

Stars glinting, and seething

I scensed the scho climb a board

A craft dark in ghostly lore

I felt the echo as it lay

Broken and fading another shade

I felt the echo as it fought

Life fragile death-sharp like a claw

I heared the echo call my name

Softly, sweetly, within a velvet bow

I heard the echo shout the word

Clashing contrasts cut to the bone

The Crescent Guard

Sunday, July 21st, 2019

The crescent guards the serpents slumber, cursed to sleep so man can wonder.
It once lived free and fed on stars, and hope was lost between its jaws.
Mankind obeyed its scaly wrath, as light was lost above its path.
Till moons anger cast a sleeping spell, and in a trance, the trickster fell.
The ages pass, new stars were born – glittering heavens where once were torn.
We stare above and wonder why, snake tried to steal the joy from sky!

By Jason Conway


Sunday, July 21st, 2019

by J.M. Strother

Commander Jenkins scanned the ridgeline, left to right. Behind him, he heard Tuck Kinner release the safety on his 3600. He half-turned toward him. “I said no weapons.”

“Just being prudent,” Tuck answered.

“Put it up.” From the lack of any sound, Jenks knew Tuck hesitated.


He heard the safety click back on. According to Mitch Turner, the Rabolli just wanted to talk. Not that he particularly trusted Mitch Turner, not after what he pulled.

He did a rough headcount. Looked like there must be thirty Rabolli showing themselves. No telling how many waited just out of sight behind the ridge. He heard a quick intake of breath from Tuck – ah, there was Mitch, stepping into view, flanked by two of the natives.

“I suppose there is nothing but to get to it.” He half-turned to his second in command. “If this is a trap, kill Turner.”

“My pleasure,” Tuck assured him.

He stepped away from the relative safety of the Rover and started up the slight incline. Sandy soil gave way under every step. It made for hard going, and by the time he met Mitch and the two Rabolli about midway he was out of breath. The thinner atmosphere of Eridani 3 didn’t help in that regard.

Eridani 3 was officially uninhabited, according to InterStell. Jenks still was not sure if the boneheads Earthside believed that to be true, or if they had all been lied to when the expedition took form. Not that it mattered now – the nearly 30 light-years distance between mother Earth and Eridani ensured this was a one-way trip. No interplanetary Marines would be rushing in to the rescue. He and his 1300 colonists were on their own. Somehow an accommodation had to be worked out.

He stopped about ten feet shy of the trio coming down the hill. They paused. Turner gazed past Jenkins to assess the threat from the party gathered near the rover. The two Rabolli eyed Jenks with interest, a nearly sub-audible conversation playing back and forth between them. No one carried any weapons, at least not openly. The larger of the two aborigines took a step forward, clasped a hand over its thorax and spoke, seemingly addressing Jenks.

“What did he say?” Jenks asked.

Mitch drew his attention back to the immediate situation. “He says welcome and blessings upon you.”

The Rabolli gazed from Jenks to Mitch then back again, apparently expecting a reply.

“Tell him thank you and blessing upon him and his.”

“Hand to throat,” Mitch said. “It’s a sign of respect.” Jenkins returned the gesture as Mitch did the translation.

How Mitch ever leaned this sing-song half speech half musical language was beyond him. Three months in captivity apparently worked wonders in the education department.

The smaller of the two Rabolli then moved forward. It too covered its thorax. Jenks returned the gesture. It then launched into a long monolog, accompanied by many gesticulations of its arms, pointing at the rover, making sweeping motions with its hands.

“What was that all about?”

“I explained the situation to them,” Mitch said. “That we can’t leave, that we are beyond the reach of any assistance.”

“You did what?” The threat of reinforcements had been swept away.

“They outnumber us by about ten-thousand to one.”

Jenks didn’t like where this was going.

“The good news is, they are not interested in wiping us out.”


“As long as we accept their terms.”

Jenkins waited.

“We can stay as long as we withdraw to the other side of the Namonnapii.”

Jenks looked back over his shoulder. The land on the other side of the Namonnapii desert was rough, less fertile. It would be a hardscrabble existence for years to come. But with the microbots and heavy equipment, they would certainly be able to make a go of it.

“And they want our technology.”

This brought Jenks back round fast. “No way.”

Mitch just cocked his head to the side as if to say, oh yeah?

“We can’t give them our tech.”

“They could just take it from your cold dead hands.”

Jenkins began to bristle.

“Come on, Commander. You think they are going to be content to live in the stone age when they’ve seen what we can do? They are not interested in weapons. They want electricity. Water pumps. Rovers. Medbots. In exchange, they are willing to let you have the entire western coastline. Sounds like a deal to me.”

“You coming back with us?” Jenks asked.

“So you can hang me as a traitor? No thanks. I’ll stick around here and help ‘em figure out how things work.”

“You’re assuming I’ll agree.”

“So tell me you don’t.”

Jenkins stared at Mitch for a long time. Finally, his shoulders slumped and he nodded. “OK, but no weapons.”

Mitch sing-songed to the two Rabolli after which the smaller of the two stepped forward and extended a hand. Jenks automatically extended his own and was surprised to find this creature’s handshake warm and firm.

“Eets sa pleesure dooing beesness id thoud,” it said, giving him a horrendous impersonation of a smile.

Mitch grinned. “They’re quick learners, Commander. Oh, and can you leave the Rover? They want to practice driving.” ~ © 2011 by J. M. Strother