[F.F. Teague]

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.

🌞

[Martin Elster]

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.

[F.F. Teague]

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.)

🌞🌞🌞

[Ann Drysdale]

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.
.

[Martin Elster]

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.

[F.F. Teague]

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

[Martin Elster]

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.

About September 1, 1914, the last known passenger pigeon, a female named Martha, died at the Cincinnati Zoo. She was roughly 29 years old, with a palsy that made her tremble. Not once in her life had she laid a fertile egg. This year marks the 100th anniversary of the passenger pigeon's extinction. (Audubon, 2014)

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

[F.F. Teague]

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

[Martin Elster]

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

[F.F. Teague]

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