PLUTO'S COMPLAINT
Pluto's my name. I have a complaint. I once was a planet but now I ain't. I thought that you loved me. But then came a snub. One day you informed me I'm out of the club. It came as a shock. I thought we were fine. I held up my end as the smallest of nine. I never made trouble. I quietly spun. I never ran late as I circled the Sun. I truly believed that we all got along. I thought that you loved me. I guess I was wrong. |
Fliss, Your Mars poem engaged me! Seriously, I really enjoyed it.
Bob, your Pluto poem was fun to read. This is not a new poem either (it appeared in The Martian Wave). But I'll work on a new planet poem soon. The Mars Rovers Rolling across the canyons and the plains, inspecting clay and crater night and day, robotically steered, they toil away beneath red skies, past rocks with ruddy stains, yet never weary or feel the slightest pains in camera, wheel, or radio. Our May is coming soon when we will dine and play and work beyond Earth’s blizzards, droughts, and rains, and say in homage as our starship leaves this world for worlds that orbit distant suns, toting our tales contained in a trillion sheaves, further and further from Sol’s warming breath: “Once ramblers, rattling on their dusty runs, had searched for life so we could sidestep death.” |
Deleted poem because I've submitted it to a journal.
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This one could be about the hypothetical Planet Nine or perhaps an exoplanet.
Long-Distance Relationship The planet takes nine hundred thousand years to orbit the small orb that is her light. Though practically free-floating, a loose bond connects the couple. No refulgent spheres ever visit. Never-ending night engulfs that world of winter, far beyond the mass of Jupiter—a giant’s giant. In their long-distance dalliance, world and star circumgyrate, aching to embrace. Their tie is tenuous, a link reliant on faith a sun won’t pass too near and jar the planet into interstellar space. Yet in the face of time’s eternal frost they vow their love will never be star-crossed. |
Thanks, Martin! I sent it to my older brother, who's a keen astronomer. He liked it too :-)
Roger/Bob, thanks for your poem. I think any poem that contains 'ain't' is a winner with me, lol. The tone is perfect for the snubbed Pluto, bless him. Martin, thanks for three more additions. I'm really enjoying your contributions, and I feel I'm learning a lot too. Congrats on The Martian Wave. Yes, moons are fine; why not? I particularly like the 'One hundred gushing geysers' and rhymes such as 'Saturn' / 'pattern', 'caecilian' / 'vermilion'. And the romance of 'Long-Distance Relationship' is a delight, especially for 'star-crossed' at the end. I used today's creative time to write a new poem for Met, but I shall try to fit in other planet poem soon :-) |
That Spin I’m In
Although I didn’t plan it I’m stuck on this old planet. The third rock from the sun, Away from it I’m spun. |
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Thanks, Martin! I've made that change. I like doing different dialects; I think Dizzee Rascal would work for Merc.
Ralph, great to have you on board. I like 'plan it' and 'planet', lol. I finished a big work project earlier today, leaving a bit of time to write something for Jupiter. I think it might be a song, cha-cha-CHING. Voice: jovial elderly male. World of Old Jove Do you live on a planet that's bringing you down 00with its politics, power-play, war? Do you frequently find that you're wearing a frown 00and, quite frankly, you're sick to your core? Well, just send for a spaceship and shimmy along 00to the wonderful world of Old Jove, with a Ho! ho-ho-ho and a bingetty-bong! – 00let's get gassily into the groove. You'll be glad, beyond glad, that you shipped to my space; 00you'll have laughter and love without pills – all you need's a sharp spacesuit to keep with the pace 00of the storms and the heat and the chills; so come on! board that spaceship and shimmy along 00to the wonderful world of Old Jove, with a Ho! ho-ho-ho and a bingetty-bong! – 00let's get gassily into the groove. |
Ceres
Once I was a planet, then an asteroid; I’m now a dwarf world hurtling across the frosty void. Named after the grain goddess of Rome, I roam around the sun, yet I’m way dimmer that Vesta, so you’re bound to miss me. I’m much smaller than Pluto or your moon; yet, though I’m rather tiny, it’s me who calls the tune amid the motley muddle of dust and rocks. I’m scrawny compared to the gas giant who’s kisser is as tawny as the feathers of a frogmouth. His gleam surpasses Sirius’. Just like that star’s companion, I’m mightily mysterious— for I’m the only boulder in all celestial rubble who talks. And I am helpful. If your spaceship is in trouble, you can always make a landing upon my icy hide or hide inside a hollow. You’ll be quite satisfied with the view from my old body (which exhales water vapor when close to Sol’s refulgence). We’ll frolic and we’ll caper along this belt of wreckage. We’ll frisk and prance and rollick in a zone of lonely stones, outcast and melancholic. Then you may wet your whistle on the water percolating from beneath Occator crater. Too salty? Not so sating? It’s all I’ve got to offer. I’m just an asteroid (or maybe a dwarf planet) tumbling through the void. |
I love your Jupiter, Fliss. Of course, no astronaut could possibly survive Old Jove's magnetic field, which is ten times stronger than Earth's!
Speaking of wars, did you know (yes, it's true) that we have far fewer wars, famine, and plagues than in the whole history of homo sapiens? (Whatever plague comes now, it's not because we have sinned and the gods are punishing us but, because we now know what causes plagues, we can manage them. So all plagues nowadays are due to human stupidity, including the current one.) But are we happier than stone-age (actually wood-age) people? Maybe not. |
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