There is no sound, the night is still
As I lie gazing on this hill
They shimmer, they shine and they wink
From sky transformed to color of ink
They dazzle, twinkle, glow and spark
Like diamonds spilt on velvet dark
Their beauty so serene and calm
To aching brow, a heavenly balm
Of nature's beauty and delight
So few surpass a starlit night
So romantic and beautiful. It may really be too bad that science finds them to be hot fusion furnaces burning hydrogen that are so far away and so many that they light up the night sky with their presence in the blackness of space. And the winking and blinking is merely the light coming through the variations of our atmosphere.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Your words thrill with their sheer beauty…
What could be more thrilling than
Lying back and observing the grandeur
of a starlit night!
Diana…🍃
Ron