Celestial lights, fusion powered stars,
that was all they wanted,
four dimensions, timely space in a matrix,
yet planetary nuisances appeared in each
galactic spiral, and random strikes
with over-budget meteors
didn’t really help.
Venus and Mars,
hide and seek,
catch and release,
Charon dreamt of riding on a comet,
of fiery petals flaming,
a switch from her elliptic circuit
closer to the sun.
~ / ~
On the Earth,
I wandered in a marsh
where polymorphs and tadpoles stretched their legs,
peered with unresolved poor vision
at tiny planes with far too many wings,
went to schools and libraries
and so on.
I never wondered who I was,
knew I wasn’t, slept in books
and sunshine, and all the
while the breath of mysteries
sighed upon my skin.
Then you appeared,
wrapped up inside a blizzard
with a popsicle, and time
in her DeLorean applied the brakes.
Moonlight shining slowly on repeat, dancing,
laughing, spinning round the frozen
singularities,
but now time’s stopped,
waiting for the lights to change.
I’m sharpening a knife to cut the ends
off snow peas, you’re icing tiny cakes,
sweetly cold.
~ / ~
Formulaic scientists in movies
who write on odd transparent boards
explain themselves with icy clarity,
and perhaps I know a little more
about the Robertson Walker metric
than I do about apologies.
But that doesn’t mean
that I’m not sorry.
about
Charon is a satellite of Pluto, the Robertson Walker Metric isn’t.
artwork solar travel
Wonderful again Steve.
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Thanks Frank, glad you like it. I’m finding time a bit of a problem at present, ie, just not enough…
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More mind bending stuff Steve. I never thought sci fi could make it in poetry but something about the balance you manage is astounding. it shouldn’t when the idea of your work is said out loud, work. but it just does somehow. A rare quality indeed.
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Thank you so much Daniel. For me it’s ordinary, it’s just what I write based on my experiences. The stories as well, pretty much sci fi, fantasy or both. If it is unusual, that cuts both ways–I know it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea ;).
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as much as we may try it isn’t easy for us to see ourselves through another’s eyes, it is as you say ‘ordinary’ to us.
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Love this. And love your surprising endings! And that you slipped the Delorean in, haha nice touch.
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Thanks Vanessa. Just had to have the DL 🙂 .
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This gave me goose bumps:
I never wondered who I was,
knew I wasn’t, slept in books
and sunshine, and all the
while the breath of mysteries
sighed upon my skin.
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Childhood, for me anyway. Hope they were good goosebumps :).
Sometimes I feel a shiver from my hair to my toes, like the saying about someone walking on your grave, but I don’t think I’m a zombie, and it’s kind of pleasant.
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Lovely image of magical childhood. Yes, good goosebumps.
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Sweet 🙂 .
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Black hole poems.
Curious,
We are pulled in,
Willy-nilly.
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Sweet ❤ . I spent too many holidays on the event horizon, that's how time got compressed.
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When I thought about these lines, “Formulaic scientists in movies
who write on odd transparent boards” it made me wonder if those transparent boards that appear to be in our future would be easier or harder to read.
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Exactly, harder. I suppose they look elegant and it allows them more camera angles with shots from behind.
In realish life more generally, there’s the idea that the best solutions to everything must be beautiful and elegant. In my student days long ago, I attended a talk by Baron Robert May with a list of examples showing that solutions are mostly very messy.
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