Thirty days written:
Worlds in words with friends in prose
under spring skies.
Day 29: Challenge
not lost.
simply unseen.
out in the deep star-fields
slow-plying, so come, look again:
find me.
scratch a few
marks on a page
trace the big picture
in broad strokes
with small lines
nevermind the human
ephemera
that fills each dt
no matter how minute
they fall out trivially
in the end
anyway.
Day 27: #fundPlanetary
Day 26: Nine+
So small
yet so diverse
defying conventions
stealing our planet-centric hearts
away.
yet so diverse
defying conventions
stealing our planet-centric hearts
away.
Day 25: Eight
Cold king
Of distant fields.
Do your subjects love you
Or do they fear your powerful,
Harsh hand?
Day 24: Seven
Your stance:
Unorthodox,
Yet bold, brash, and daring.
But does it match your character's
Content?
Day 23: Six
Don't judge.
We know we're not
Dressed for this neighborhood.
But we just can't afford the rings
You flaunt.
Day 22: Five
Anger
Is evident
On your storm-shrouded brow.
Did our grand envoy's final plunge
Offend?
Day 21: Four
So small
For such mountains,
Flood-valleys, and war scars.
You must have such stories; will you
Share them?
Day 20: Three
Blue-green,
Dappled with white.
Turning with your ash-pale
Companion and your wine-dark seas;
Just right.
Day 19: Two
You look
A lot like us
At first glance, but hot like
Countless scattered stars, though none burn
So bright.
Day 18: One
Fleeting
At dawn and dusk;
impermanence defined.
Stone, fire, and gravity assault;
you hold.
Oceans -
brought frozen
in countless tiny shards,
infused with exotic flavors.
Aged to perfection
with silt and salt
and life.
There's a rare nocturnal flower
that's most oft found high and dry;
their fine petals open nightly,
and they look up to the sky.
They await some distant pollen,
carried cross a dark abyss
in the gentle winds of starlight,
that alight here like a kiss.
As the dawn arrives they shyly
close their petals once again.
They turn modest in the sun's glare,
and conceal what they contain.
These rare nocturnal flowers
have roots that span the world
that share what they've collected
while their petals were unfurled.
Bias, flat, dark, exposure;
I've come to collect some faint starlight
from within the dome enclosure.
It's getting late and I lose composure
my scripts have failed to take the right
Bias, flat, dark, exposure.
The sky has not yet clouded over,
but I've not collected a useful byte
from within the dome enclosure.
I re-read the manual, cover to cover,
and hope I can resume tonight:
Bias, flat, dark, exposure.
... but I might more easily land a rover
on Mars than make this instrument recite
"Bias, flat, dark, exposure"
from within the dome enclosure.
Little
unused exists.
Worlds are built in decay;
shadows are haunted by countless
dead stars.
Two-score and twelve π
radians around the sun;
I'm not dizzy yet!
Five Vostok engines
burning bright,
bellowing intent,
begin their flight.
One hundred eight minutes,
with ground commanding,
from "Poehali!"
to Sharik's landing.
Now a line is crossed,
however time goes by;
There will never be a human race
that did not breach the sky.
The Dark
Content at night
the dark areas agree
a symbiosis
in cold resistance
to different forms,
different conditions,
to prevail
in the dark.
Page 267 from "The Physics of the Planet Mars" by Gerard de Vaucouleurs, 1953.
There once was a man from El Paso
who went into space with a lasso
to bag a big rock
and bring it back to dock
but it missed and caused quite a fiasco.
Swing close and hotly, deep in twilight glare,
between the prowling nickel Scylla's gaze
and whirling end sunlight's Charybdis brings
to those too small, who weakly fight her force.
So hide, obscure, amongst the fading wings
of Icarian ice, now stripped and set ablaze -
but know; our sleepless eyes will find you there,
unless ... unless you are just myths, of course.
whirr away, minions
take data and instructions
leave heat and science
be swift but always precise
and wary of floating points .
Harsh tides
A slow demise
Now imperceptible
Spiral down; but briefly become
Bright rings.
Anise night enfolds;
dry, but for the sage-soft rain
of saffron starlight.
Tumble, tumble, you pile of rubble;
boulders split, and regolith crumble.
Cast off your spin and your eigenvalues,
forsake your conformity and principal axis.
You are freed from restriction by chaos-taboos,
freed by light on your face and shape of your facets.
So tumble, tumble, you pile of rubble;
and thank the Sun for all it's trouble!
the soft green night
hides its tempo
in the moon-flicker
through the trees.
a new tone is struck
for every breath
on every leaf.
the stars are faint
yet flickers show;
their beats as brief
as worlds' shadows.
My Charon is a harsh mistress;
and no part of her is weak.
Her tides are swift and most capricious,
her chaotic sea is bleak.
My Charon is a harsh mistress;
she demands you fools keep pace.
If she sees you flag or grow too listless
she will cast you out with haste.
My Charon is a harsh mistress, though once a part of me,
For as we are locked together, and cannot look apart
I see her for what she is, and it pains my stony heart.
She is filled with ice, more ice than me,
and has been from the start.
Day 2: Feed
Origin left
Myriad equals
Now few
Oligarchs stir
Many less-
Notable beginnings
Onto paths
Most will
Never escape
Outward into
Mere desolation
None welcome
Oblivion in
Merger.
Day 1: Observing Proposal
Once a glittering chord
in some enduring tapestry,
now an unstitched thread
pulled loose for scrutiny.
Who am I to tell it a warp from a weft?
My eye cannot be sufficiently keen.
I can only tease a new fiber free
and hope it proves a sympathetic string.
Day 0:
/ One
/ Step
// Begins
/// A sequence
///// Without a limit
//////// Except the smallest infinite
Good job! All four in one day? I am right behind you!
ReplyDeleteCheryl Crockett
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