Some numbers are just too big
for the human brain
to fully comprehend:
a septillion stars,
two trillion galaxies,
seven billion people,
thirty-six percent
of Americans who somehow still look past
the casual racism,
the xenophobia,
the creeping fascism
flowing from the sleepy, unhinged man
slumped at the Resolute desk.
The sky bends beneath city lights,
its vast quiet fractured—
and yet the hunter emerges,
sharp-edged, unbroken.
Once, he anchored me—
half a world away,
etched into desert winds,
his watchful eyes a tether
to what I could not hold:
home, family, something unnamed.
Time slips, soft as owl’s breath,
years folding into shadows,
a presence felt, unseen,
somewhere at the mind’s edge,
like a promise carved in starlight.
But tonight, I look up;
his belt gleams bright,
as if memory itself
has taken shape in the dark,
steady, silent, unchanging.
It’s good to see you again,
old friend.
Written in response to Sammy’s Weekend Writing Prompt #389: Write a poem or a piece of prose in exactly 99 words using the word “Hunter”.
Blinded by city lights and the press of crowded streets,
settled comfortably into the urban trance,
until one clear night, looking up, I suddenly realized
I’d forgotten about the stars.
Too long had passed since I last ventured back
to the pastoral scenes of my youth,
lay upon the cool earth, and peered out,
down, into the boundless cosmos.
Light from the dawn of time racing toward me,
yet somehow arriving late.
The silent gasps of ancient stars,
their essence reaching us only in their final throes,
as the universe hums a beautifully haunting melody,
like a whale’s call echoing across cosmic seas,
breathing into the night air
the very origins of existence.
Written in response to the NaPoWriMo Day 17 Prompt:
“Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that is inspired by a piece of music, and that shares its title with that piece of music.”
I chose the song California Stars from Mermaid Avenue, the 1998 album of previously unheard lyrics by Woody Guthrie, put to music written and performed by Billy Bragg and Wilco.
I was recently reading an article about light pollution, which brought back vivid memories of nights spent under expansive star-filled skies in various remote locations. From the deserts of Marfa and Iraq to the rural countrysides of Central Texas and the mountains of the Big Island in Hawaii—places I either lived during my youth or explored as a young man in the Army. The stars overhead always evoked a profound sense of awe and highlighted our minuscule position in the vast universe. I believe that witnessing the stars is crucial for humans; it’s a connection that is often diminished in big cities where artificial light washes out the celestial wonder of the night sky.
Starlight dances softly upon rooftops,
Gliding through barren branches
To play on fallen leaves,
Reminding us gently
Of our own star’s
Promised return.
The Truth About Tigers 