When light arcs across tabletops
at just such an angle, one may
observe the fault line; peering through,
one may achieve a certain
unwelcome enlightenment.

You, ungrateful humans, are but
fragments of my consciousness,
reflections of my light,
safeguarded by my blindness,
fashioned from my spite.

Cafe light

By Caroline Hutchinson



Continents rise and fall,
civilizations blossom and degenerate.
The sun and moon chase
their tails, at cartoonish speeds.

Men flicker like fireflies, seeking
to tame dark matter with machinery.
Peer through microscopes
at immortal promise.

I am no scientist,
no Shackleton of the microcosmos.
All that matters to me is that
we continue to be.

Dark Matter Core Defies Explanation

By Nasa Blue Shift via Flickr

This remorseless whirligig


(This was a challenge, as part of the Writer’s Digest “Poem a Day” month, to choose two words coined by Shakespeare as the title of a poem. There were far too many wonderful words for me to choose just two.)

A noiseless, lustrous plaything,
I bewitch dauntless young-eyed,
yet innocent of fear.

In blushing adolescence,
men swagger, play at courtship,
life’s savagery unreal.

I’ll bite thee by the gnarled ear;
deafening ceaseless spinning
a monumental fixture.

“And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.” – Twelfth Night

By Jun, via Flickr