Deleted poem.

Ah yes, the terzanelle. (A pause to consult Wikipedia.)

Very good, Martin. I'd forgotten about this thread. I like the 'Shires and Clydesdales'. Shires look like they're wearing flared trousers, which pleases me. I looked up 'Clydesdales'; they have a cool vibe too.

Has this poem been published anywhere?

Best wishes,
Fliss

Hi Fliss. Thanks. The terzanelle is not as common as the other "-nelle," but it's a pretty interesting variation. Both Shire horses and Clydesdales look like they have bell-bottoms. Thanks for liking the poem. It's not published. But now that I think about it, I'll submit it someplace.

You're welcome, Martin; I'll have to try the terzanelle one day. Best of luck with the poem :-)

Astronomy in the Seventeenth Century

You sit in a kimono-like silk robe,
observe the Dragon, Hercules, the Bear
and Lyra on your multicolored globe,
and eavesdrop as they speak of an elsewhere

beyond your ken. A manual on the table
is open to the saying, "inspiration
from God," a practicable guide to enable
a man to learn the stars and navigation.

How dare you go against the sacred scheme,
commit attempts to learn about the earth,
the nature of the suns and worlds that beam
their facts to prying scientists. A dearth

of hands-on research is what they expect.
Is that the reason you've no telescope?
God's frightened His whole system could be wrecked
if you don't wash your notions out with soap.

The globe now, in slow motion, detonates,
the constellations flung every which way.
You fall as your gray matter vacillates
between the urge to blaspheme or to pray.

(Appeared in The Ekphrastic Review.)

If you want to see the picture of The Astronomer, by Johannes Vermeer, here is the link.
https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrasti...-martin-elster

Gazing Up

Walking out of the chain store, beginning his stroll
down the road to his house, underneath the sky’s bowl,
he looks up and sees points that are smaller than peas:
Jupiter rising above the dark trees;

Venus en route to the western skyline
leashed to the sun like a docile canine;
and higher, bright Cygnus (the beautiful swan),
and the Summer Triangle. Yet others are gone,

for the streetlights obliterate much of the view
of the cosmic expanse above Fern Avenue.
He can’t see the faint band of the great Milky Way,
can’t descry constellations too subtle, no ray

of light from those heavenly bodies will make it
to his eyes. A strange thought floats around. He can’t shake it:
As blind as the foxes and bats to the heavens,
man hunts not for the stars, but for 7-Elevens.

Hi Martin,

These are great. Congrats for getting the first into the Ekphrastic Review. I enjoyed reading it especially in combination with the pic. I like the imagery in S1 and the lead-up to the questionings. The final stanza is dramatic and a fitting end.

I like 'Grazing Up' too. I enjoy looking at the night sky. Good to see Jovial Jove again and Venus of course. I need to write a poem about a swan for my bird club, as our pen died recently :-( :>( (we are sad)

Lol at '7-Elevens'; yes, very useful. I was very well known to the staff at my local once upon a time.

I haven't had time to write my eclipse poem yet. I think I might have to start getting up earlier in the morning to fit in creative time amidst work :-/

Best wishes,
Fliss

Solar eclipse, Dartington, 11th August 1999

The music ends and silence is our cue to move from garden grounds
to wild and windswept grasslands at the end of one ascending track
along whose narrow banks the drama class begins to call in rounds
and R. is there and watching me and shouting shivers down my back.

The sun’s behind the clouds when all we gather over green and brown
in groups and trying glasses on the jettest black in yellow frames
and pater says these people don’t know physics with a comic frown
and R. is there and watching me and I am sun in auburn flames.

And suddenly the darkness sweeps across the field with sun still in
yet strong enough to cause this rush this running over earth to sea
my pulse is racing blood on fire and heating all my freckled skin
and R. is there and watching me and watching me and watching me.

🌘 🌑 🌒

I meant to post this one yesterday, tying in with the solstice at Stonehenge. It was commissioned by Happenstance Border Morris and I'm going to set it to music at some stage :-)


Song of the Stones

Here we stand upon the plain
00in our weathered ring;
know the nature of our grain,
00hear the song we sing.

Millions of years ago
00on our native land,
steady sea and river flow
00layered silt and sand.

Onto silt-sand water poured,
00full of magic quartz,
formed a solid sarsen hoard
00fit for shielding forts.

Ice Age freeze and thaw swept Earth,
00cracked the sandstone store,
so we boulders had our birth
00as majestic tor.

On the southern downs we lay
00in our grassy bed,
until one New Stone Age day,
00Man came by and said:

'We have built a healing place
00high on yonder mound;
now we ask, with goodly grace,
00come, protect our ground.'

We agreed and sledge was rolled,
00with five hundreds force,
sky turned purple, red and gold,
00as we took our course.

Then Man raised us with glad cries
00all round bluestones shrine,
stars shone countless wondrous eyes
00on our lofty line.

Thus began our watch to keep
00till the end of time,
when this world at last shall sleep,
00silencing our rhyme.

Here we stand upon the plain
00in our weathered ring;
know the nature of our grain,
00hear the song we sing.

Fliss, "Song of the Stones" is a marvelous poem. The perfectly consistent trochaic meter, the voice of the stones, and alliteration are delightful.

I also enjoyed the solar eclipse poem. But I can't help wondering who "R." is. I can't decide if this person is a bystander just being annoying, is the teacher of the drama class, or a fellow drama student who is obsessively infatuated with the N.

By the way, have you ever wondered why, during a solar eclipse, the Moon's shadow moves across Earth faster than Earth spins on its axis? Yes, the shadow always moves from west to east, racing ahead of the ground or the sea. It's because the Moon moves faster in its orbit around Earth than Earth rotates.

The Moon orbits Earth at a speed of 2,288 miles per hour.
The surface of the earth at the equator moves at a speed of roughly 1,000 miles per hour.
So the moon moves far faster than Earth spins!
And that's also why it rises in the east later each night. The Moon overtakes the earth's rotation every day.

Thanks, Martin. I'm glad you enjoyed 'Song of the Stones'; I did quite a lot of research for it!

Thanks for enjoying the solar eclipse poem too. I wrote this one in a bit of a rush, which probably explains why it's not entirely clear. One sunny summer morning R caught up with me while I was walking from our halls of residence to the school. Sparks flew, until my dad turned up at the garden gate, with his slightly sinister smile. R made some sort of excuse to be elsewhere and didn't talk to me again, preferring to engage in watching, lol. I liked that; I was only 20 and I liked the attention. He was involved in the drama group and sang tenor in the choir.

Yes, I have wondered about the Moon; thanks for the enlightenment. I am fond of the Moon and often observe it during the evening as it climbs the sky. My studio faces east 8-) (watching, watching, watching)

Here's a poem I wrote this morning, possibly for an anthology with the theme 'Beauty in Normalcy' (I've been invited to submit). I figure it's okay to post it on this thread, as it describes a situation on Planet Earth. I'm going to post it in Met too.


Five days of coleus

They're tiny now, in one small shade of green,
these weeks-old infants in their perfect rows.
Already, though, I see them start to lean
towards the East, tenacious on their toes.
He told me that there isn't much to do:
just keep their bedding damp, no need to flood.
I tend, recalling nineteen ninety-two:
the drownings, accidental, in the mud;
and all my errors through the teenage years
then adulthood – neglect while I was high
and shining smiles or low and raining tears.
He's confident, these days, that they won't die.
They'll leave me soon, returning to his house
to find the summer sunlight all around
and, as he pots, some jazz hits sure to rouse
to pink and purple flames on Cotswold ground.

🌞

That's a delightful poem, Fliss. It's not exactly about planets, though, is it? But, yes, Earth is a planet which is mind-bogglingly diverse in its life forms, both plants and animals (and microbes, etc.).

Here is a poem about a solar eclipse and one about a non-stargazing dog.

Sol Concealed

“How dare you block my blaze,” Sun said to Moon,
“it’s disrespectful.” Moon ignored his whining,
continuing to move before his shining
indignant visage. The sunny afternoon
was swiftly growing moonless, and the stars
popped up across the sky with Saturn, Mars,

beige Jupiter, white Venus (a dazzling dot)
and even Mercury (infrequent guest)
along with the Great Canine in the west
(witnessed in the winter, not on hot
dog-day afternoons). Now Sun was seething
while we eyewitnesses were barely breathing.

The wind grew cold, birds took a power nap,
the crickets started quavering, and we
stood round, gaping and goggling in Tennessee,
pondering this otherworldly gap,
this discontinuation of the light.
Feeling effaced, Sun burned for a fiery fight.

What happened next was truly epoch-making.
Ceasing her mischief, by minute degrees
Moon slunk away. The world’s hostilities
ended at once. No longer bellyaching,
Sun shone again in all his awesome glory,
forgetting that all things are transitory.


Note: Originally in S4, Moon was “its” and Sun was “its.”
But in S1, Sun was “he” (which he still is). I'm not quite sure about the pronouns — its vs. him/her. Which one is better? Should I be PC about it? Is that a silly question?

The sun and the moon: A gender change
http://thelangwitch.com/en/geen-cate...-gender-change


The Stargazer’s Dog

As I stare at the moon, the stars,
Orion, Saturn, Venus, Mars,
or Jupiter, my furry cur
peers straight ahead for things that stir

between those weeds, behind that tree,
where moonlight helps his eyes to see.
As I gaze at the lunar face,
that mutt of mine sees much to chase.

“Look at the moon. Look up! Look up!”
I tell my little, furry pup.
His ears perk up, his eyes fixate
on some small creature near the gate.

My finger points straight toward the moon,
but he lives to a different tune—
a tune not astronomical,
but simply gastronomical.

His stomach’s what inspires that
canine to chase and tree a cat.
He’s earthly, not celestial.
He lives to tunes digestial.

Astronomy is not his bag;
that dog would rather stalk a stag.
But were the moon to dash away
I bet he’d leap and catch his “prey.”

Of course my earthbound dog can’t do it,
but if he could, he’d surely chew it.
Swiss cheese is that pup’s favorite snack.
But when he’s full would he come back?

After he takes a bite from it,
who knows, that dog might go and sit
down on the rim of some great crater.
Look at earth. Say, “See you later!”

He would come back eventually
cause I think he’d start missing me.
But then again, perhaps he might
just stay up there night after night

and live on all that tasty cheese
despite my shouts and screams and pleas.
But if he does come back to me
will there be any moon to see?

I doubt it, for he’d eat it all—
the total shining cratered ball.
So where a moon once was will then
be twinkling stars—far more than ten.

Thanks, Martin; I'm glad you like it. No, I suppose it isn't exactly about planets. Sorry; I just keep running out of time at the mo.

Thanks for your contributions to the thread, both great. I like the opening of 'Sol Concealed' with the Sun's whining and the dynamic description of the eclipse. The birds certainly took a power nap at Dartington and I love 'dog-day afternoons'. The scene setting is great too; I wrote a prose piece about the Dartington eclipse to try to get to the essence of the experience, but it's possible I missed out a few interesting things in the process. The end of your poem is strong too. Re. being PC about the pronouns, I'm not sure what to suggest, really. I don't mind Sun as male and Moon as female, but some might, I suppose, not least persons identifying as 'they'. It's tricky, these days.

'The Stargazer's Dog' is excellent. I like the 'astronomical' / 'gastronomical' rhyme; and also 'celestial' and 'digestial', lol. The pup of the poem is so sweet. I like 'tree' as a verb and the Swiss cheese. I'm sure he would miss you and return, and I like the shouting and screaming. Martin, has this been published anywhere? It's very good :-)

Now we have pleasure in posting another Morris piece, a song in which the Sun is mentioned along with various trees. The main theme is a little irrelevant to the thread, but I'll set out the top line of the tune underneath as a sort of bonus feature. Each dot represents a beat and the chorus is my exact rendition of the song of a pigeon in the garden at the time of writing (2015). Funnily enough, there's a pigeon singing right now :>)


Opus pigeon

Sing pigeons sing as the Sun starts to rise . .
perching in Father Lime close to the skies . .
watching the world wake with golden-rimmed eyes . .
sing pigeons sing thy sweet tune . . . . .

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo
oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo
oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . .
oo

Sing pigeons sing as the Sun courses high . .
rounding Far Oak and her limbs swept awry . .
sailing on silver wings shimmering by . .
sing pigeons sing thy sweet tune . . . . .

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo
oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo
oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . .
oo

Sing pigeons sing as the Sun sets to night . .
roosting in Horse Chestnut bathed in rose light . .
settling by candle bronze soon to bloom white . .
sing pigeons sing thy sweet tune . . . . .

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo
oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo
oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . .
oo

---
Tune, C Major (bold for below middle C)

C D E G E D C A G C
D D E F E D E E F G
G C' B A G F G F E D
C D E C A G C

Voices, piano, tambourine, maybe.

(If this isn't clear, I'll see if I can put it on Flat and take a screenshot.)

🌞🌞🌞

Martin's poem at #92 put me so much in mind of this...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icgbv0yWdX0

With the lyrics, if you're not familiar with it...

The sun, whose rays, are all ablaze, with ever-living glory,
Does not deny, his majesty, he scorns to tell a story!
He don't exclaim, "I blush for shame, so kindly be indulgent."
But, fierce and bold, in fiery gold, he glories all effulgent!
I mean to rule the earth, as he the sky -
We really know our worth, the sun and I!
I mean to rule the earth, as he the sky -
We really know our worth, the sun and I!

Observe his flame, that placid dame, the moon's Celestial Highness;
There's not a trace, upon her face, of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light, that through the night, mankind may all acclaim her!
And, truth to tell, she lights up well, so I for one, don't blame her!
Ah, pray make no mistake, we are not shy;
We're very wide awake, the moon and I!
Ah, pray make no mistake, we are not shy;
We're very wide awake, the moon and I!

W.S. Gilbert.
.

Thanks, Ann. I wasn't familiar with that song, but I'm so glad you posted it, because I love the lyrics. I can see how my eclipse poem would remind you of it.

Fliss, that's a nice poem about the pigeons. I have written a couple of pigeon poems. Here's one of them:

https://sapphostorque.com/2019/04/07...martin-elster/

The other one, about the passenger pigeon (which, as you know, homo sapiens exterminated), is unpublished. Both of my pigeon poems were workshopped here at the Sphere.

I'm glad you enjoyed "Sol Concealed." (I decided I'm not going to worry about calling the Sun "he" and the Moon "she." If Sir W. S. Gilbert did it, I guess it's OK.) I'm also pleased that you liked "The Stargazer's Dog." To answer your question — no, it's not published.

Yes, what a wonderful song, Ann; thank you for sharing :-)

Martin, thanks for enjoying the pigeon piece :>)

Thanks for the link to your own pigeon poem. It's excellent, full of movement and metaphor; I particularly like the 'rabbits in their huts' and 'the Bird Olympics' sound thrilling. That's a very nice picture of you and your dog. Perhaps you could think about using it for your next book?

I know a bit about the passenger pigeon through a poem a friend wrote a few years ago. Was the last of the species named 'Martha'? I suppose pigeon poems aren't strictly planet poems, but I'd be interested in seeing yours, if you'd like to post it somewhere.

Yes, 'Sol Concealed' is also v.g. and I thought of 'The Stargazer's Dog' this afternoon, as I was searching for Gershwin on YouTube and came across this little tribute, lol. I thought you, and anyone else who's keen on canines, might enjoy it.

I shall write something suitable for this thread soon, I hope.

Best wishes,
Fliss

Fliss, thanks for liking my “The Pigeons.” And also for that picture of me and my dog — two ugly mutts. Actually, Wilbur is quite photogenic. (Not so sure about me. ;)) Thanks for mentioning the rabbit huts and the bird Olympics. That poem was inspired by me standing on a bridge above a river on a cold winter's day and watching the acrobatics of a flock of pigeons. The bridge also overlooked the central part of a small rural town where I briefly lived.

Yes, Martha was her name.

I’m pleased you liked “Sol Concealed,” and also thanks for thinking of me and my dog and my poem “The Stargazer’s Dog,” and for the link to “Walking the Dog.” I’m quite familiar with that Gershwin tune. It was great to hear it again, and especially to see pictures of all those composers and their pooches. I know the names and music of most of them (the humans, that is), but didn’t know what many of them look like, so that was a treat! (The video that followed that one is Bach’s "Toccata and Fugue," which I am listening to now.)

OK, here is my passenger pigeon poem.

Passenger Pigeon
(Ectopistes migratorius)

We ate beechnuts and chestnuts and acorns and seeds and ripe berries,
worms and insects—unlimited stores!—till our smart adversaries
(you people) rolled in. Every forest you felled for your lumber
impelled us to seek out new forests for berries and slumber,

to nest and to couple, lay eggs and to fledge. Without number,
we tore through the sky like a tempest. No force could encumber
that billow of birds. Women, children and geezers, on hearing
the approach of a jillion jangles, took cover. While peering

from your windows till dusk, when the last of the flight passed from sight,
you were blind to our plight: No more trees? Then we’d have to alight
on your farmlands. You started to shoot and to poison and trap us
and everything else you could think of in order to zap us.

Immune to the wolf and the weasel, the fox and the hawk,
we succumbed to your bullets as readily as the great awk.
You polished off hundreds and thousands and millions with ease!
Your bellies sang paeans when filled with such delicacies.

Murdering was, in a way, not unlike a religion.
Full of fervor, you deftly and cleverly whacked every pigeon
whizzing past, or ignited our nests. We’d be always in stock
you believed, till you noticed, alarmed, that each infinite flock

began dwindling and suddenly “infinite” turned into “nada.”
No bird-cloud now darkens your day or trills out a sonata
or cascades into canyons like meteors made of bright plumes.
Sonic booms now resound above billows of thick, silent fumes.

Best,
Martin

You're welcome, Martin. It's a great poem, with a great picture; you and Wilbur are quite the dashing duo ;-) ;>)

The expression 'acrobatics of a flock of pigeons' takes me to Keats's 'a pigeon tumbling in clear summer air', which is pleasant. The pigeons in my garden aren't particularly acrobatic, but they do sing very well. A few years back, there was one with a surprisingly deep voice. 'Quite enchanting,' Word-Bird recalls :>)

Poor Martha. Perhaps I should write a tribute.

Yes, I thought you might know 'Walking the Dog'. I know some of the composers and I particularly like the portrait of Poulenc plus pooch. His (Poulenc's) sonata was in my clarinet repertoire while I was studying Music at school. I know Bach's Toccata and Fugue quite well too. Stirring!

Thanks for posting your passenger pigeon poem. We love it! The 'billow of birds' takes us to our own dear 'billow-birds' of course, from a silly poem I wrote for the Freshtival thread. Well, I'm probably a natural nonsense poet, lol. But this is brilliant. So many highlights, all the way through, e.g. 'jillion jangles', 'wolf and the weasel', 'bellies sang paeans', the bit about religion, the dear 'bird-cloud'. I'm surprised this hasn't been published. 'I shall publish it,' Word-Bird decides ;>)

Best to you,
Fliss

Hi Fliss,

If Martha's eggs had been fertile and hatched, maybe the species could have been brought back. So, not only poor Marth, but poor all the rest of the billions of her kin.

I, too, know most of those composers in the video. I want to watch it again to see their dogs. They go by too fast to really have a chance to study them. I could probably name most of the breeds, too.

I'm happy you liked my passenger pigeon poem. It's a relatively recent creation, so I haven't submitted it to many journals. But I would like to see it find a home. The passenger pigeon is part of a series of poems about extinct animal species. A couple have so far been published — one about the dodo (Autumn Sky Poetry Daily) and the other about the Tasmanian Tiger (Poetry Nook). Thanks to members of the Sphere for help with both of those poems.

Best,
Martin

Hi Martin,

Yes, I was thinking about how to continue with the species yesterday. It's a shame that didn't happen :>(

Ah, you know dog breeds. I know guinea pig breeds rather well. My favourite is the Abyssinian, aka guineas with tufty hair, rosettes, and particularly friendly personalities. They tend to move rather comically too.

Your passenger poem is excellent and I'm sure you'll find a home for it. Congrats on publishing successes to date. Have you ever written a poem about a dodo? Wonderful birds.

I ran out of time to write anything new for this thread today (now yesterday), but I shall try tomorrow (today). 'Now get to bed, FT' :>)

Best wishes,
Fliss

The Abyssinian sounds like it would make a very good pet. I suppose they are native to Ethiopia. I haven't Googled it though.

Thanks again for liking my passenger pigeon piece. Yes, I did write a poem about the dodo. (I mentioned it in my previous post.)

https://autumnskypoetrydaily.com/202...rtin-j-elster/

I hope you had a good night's rest. :)

Thanks, Martin; I had 5 hours, which is good, for me. Hope you slept well too.

Funnily enough, Abyssinian guineas don't come from Ethiopia but from South America; I don't know the reason for their name. There's a rather delightful example here (Ginny, being weighed as part of a health check).

You're welcome for the like of the passenger pigeon piece. Sorry I missed the link; my vision was a bit blurry at the time. I've read it now and it's v.g. I had to do a lot of research on dodos while creating that children's safari section I mentioned; meet Daudi Dodo here (the kids insisted she be a ghost and pink, lol).

Martin, I hope your day's going well. It's been all about admin for me and Word-Bird, but that included traipsing through the poetry archives, which was fun. I even found a moon poem from 2011 (not particularly good, but perhaps entertaining; 'us' is me and W.-B.):


The Man in the Moon

His cheerful features have inspired so many myths of yore,
all cultures keen to claim his face as part of their own lore.

The Europeans deem him bad, accuse him of some crime;
the Moon is thus his prison-house where he does banished time.

The Christians reckon he’s the man whom God caught stealing sticks,
and death by stoning saw him off, preventing further tricks.

While Germans think he pilfered hedges, Romans pilfered sheep,
medieval folk pronounced him Cain, who wanders while we sleep.

Perhaps John Lyly sees the light in his Endymion:
about this man, nobody knows who lives beneath the sun.

For us, he is a comforter who's smiling from the skies:
a simply shiny happy chap with kindly watching eyes.

🌛

Hi Fliss,

That's a cute moon poem and I like the historical and mythological allusions. Did you know that the Moon is actually very dark? Its albedo is 0.12.

The Moon's exosphere actually contains neon. Is that cool, or what! Here is a picture of Earthrise:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moon#/...-Earthrise.jpg

Daudi Dodo is a nice-looking pink dodo, as pink as a flamingo. Do you know the reason why an adult flamingo is pink? It's due to the food that it eats. Baby flamingos are not pink. It takes a while for that color to appear.

Imitation Stars

While you, a fork-tailed swallow, zip to Mars
on winds that energize the emptiness,
I founder under imitation stars,

lamps turning night to day, so minicars
and men can snake their way amid this mess.
While you, a fork-tailed swallow, zip to Mars,

relishing rocket salad grown in jars,
enjoying a low-gravity caress,
I founder under imitation stars

to nap with rats, surrounded by the scars
that score this town of broken bricks — unless
you, swallowing your grudge, will zip to Mars

with me in tow. But, no! Our stormy spars
have flung you to some faraway address
and left me foundering beneath fake stars,

a body renter, loitering in bars,
compelled to let the suits in charge possess
my brain and swallow me. Go zip to Mars.
Why founder under imitation stars?

Hi Martin,

Thanks for liking the cute moon poem, lol. It's just one of my Wiki-poems, really, but I enjoyed the research. No, I did not know that the Moon is actually very dark; and I hadn't heard the word 'albedo' before, so I am doubly educated; thank you 8-)

The neon in the Moon's exosphere is indeed cool. That's a beautiful picture of Earthrise!

Thank you for admiring Daudi Dodo. 'Ooh, thank you kindly, my dear!' Daudi responds. Yes, I think I knew why an adult flamingo is pink, having encountered many of these birds during my head-trips to Safari Africa, not least to Lake Natron :>)

That's an excellent poem, Martin; is it a villanelle? The images are strong and there's a lot of movement in it. I like the alliteration and the rhythm and particularly the 'rocket salad'. The N comes across as somewhat broken, which makes me sad. 'Me too' :>/

Well, by contrast I have just composed a silly simple poem based on my Man in the Moon research. F-to-Moon-Man :-)


Moon-Man

Hello, all. I am Moon-Man. I live on the Moon.
How you puzzle upon my visage.
I am criminal, prisoned; a stick-stealing goon;
and all manner of odd argy-barge.

I have pilfered your hedges. No, pilfered your sheep.
Maybe both? Make your minds up, dears, do.
I am Cain and I wander about while you sleep.
No truth there; just a fiction by you.

Ah, John Lyly, a humbler approach. That is good.
Yes, nobody knows Moon-Man, indeed.
But that said, with a fresh approach, maybe you could.
It is not an impossible deed.

What's required? Why, some whimsy, that's all. It won't hurt.
Take me into your heart, not your mind.
I am Moon-Man, as sweet as your favourite dessert.
I am shiny and happy and kind.

🌚 <-- smiley moon

This is as revision of the poem in Post #86.

Gazing Up

Out of the chain store, beginning his stroll
down the road to his house underneath the sky’s bowl
he looks up and sees points far smaller than peas:
Jupiter rising above the trees;

Venus vanishing into the skyline,
leashed to the sun akin to a canine;
and hovering higher, Cygnus (the swan)
in the Summer Triangle. Others are gone

in the glare engulfing the avenue.
Red, orange, yellow, white, and blue,
the billion bulbs of the Milky Way—
where are they hiding? Not one stray ray

of light from those heavenly bodies will make it
to his eyes. A strange thought floats around. He can’t shake it:
Once awed by a glimpse of the glittering heavens,
we’re now flittering moths drawn to 7-Elevens.

WE COME IN PEACE
a children's poem

Dear Earthlings,

By now you’ve seen our spaceships
as they hover in your sky.
We’ve traveled far to get here
and I guess you wonder why.

We come in peace to meet you,
here on Earth, away from home.
Our reasons will be clear enough
once you have read this poem.

On Mars we speak a language
that’s like English, but reversed,
so black is white on Mars
and good is bad
and last is first,

and when we say
we’re sitting down
it means we’re standing up,
and when we say the dog is old
it means he’s just a pup.

Delicious means it tastes like dirt.
I’m thrilled means I am bored.
Up means down
and heal means hurt
and hated means adored.

And when we say we’ve gone berserk
it means we’re calm and staid.
So when I said we come in peace
it meant

      WE WILL INVADE!

Hi Martin and Roger,

Thanks for returning to this thread! I think I ran out of things to write about after 'Moon-Man'. I like your latest contributions. Martin, that's a great revision; Roger, very humorous with a strong ending. I got a bit of a shock! I should probably read through the poems and think about whether any of my contributions is worth revising 🤔

Best wishes,
Fliss

Invisible Inc.

I’m one of those planets you can’t see.
Just glimpse around, you won’t spot me.
Above, below, be soon, be late,
There’s nothing there quite half so great
As invisible energy, transparent mass:
I love it like your laughing gas.

SETI people know enough:
“E-T minds don’t have the stuff
To ring Sol sans shadow.” That’s just guff.
I’m right betwixt you. It must be tough
For groundlings who can’t stand the heat
That comes from knowing they’ve been beat.
We’re all around, in several sizes.
I’m just the planet who advertises.

Good heavens! This thread (now revived) has grown to Jovian proportions since I last looked at it.


Here's one from my archives, which I've probably posted elsewhere many years ago ...


The Ex-terrestrial

Yes, living here was tough at the beginning;
An airless desert, blistered by the sun.
It’s not a place for losers; used to winning,
We saw another challenge to be won.

Although at first confined to plastic domes
(This one was Branson’s; that belonged to Gates),
We’d set our hearts on vast palatial homes
With swimming pools and manicured estates.

We pooled our knowhow and ill-gotten gains
To siphon off Earth’s atmosphere and seas.
Today, we laugh with pleasure when it rains,
And sip Martinis in the evening breeze.

Of course, the people back on Earth all perished
When oxygen and water disappeared,
But frankly, there was no one that we cherished,
And life on Mars is sweeter than we’d feared.

Thanks, Allen and Brian :)

Brian, yes, it's impressive! And I've just realised it's coming up to a year old, although there was quite a break between #104 and #105. When the schedule permits, I'm going to rewrite my eclipse poem 🌘

Best wishes,
Fliss