2015 Poetry Post 30: A Farewell

We can all share the feeling,
can’t we?
It wasn’t as flashy
as other rides
at school or work,
but it was loaded
with extras
and it had so much power!
There was the sunshade
that might have looked dorky
but you used it
and never melted a cassette.

You didn’t take it
to the usual places
with the popular crowd.
Instead you explored
the shadiest nooks
and the steamiest hollows,
and found the last of the places
that the ancients
would have heard of
but never seen.
You’d take it out under the stars
and watch comets pass by.
You and your friends
felt like you’d used it
to see the whole damned planet
(though you’d admit
you perhaps saw some parts
better than others)
through days and nights
that seemed to last for months.

But mostly that workhorse
gave you uncounted miles
and let you earn your keep.
Eventually, you knew
its tank was emptying
for the final time.
You knew you’d never
see another vehicle like it.
So you got
the most out of it
you could
and drove it into the ground.
Did you forget to empty the tape deck?
No matter.
You have lots and lots of pictures
to remember it by
and smile.



-----

This is a double commemoration, of the end of NaPoWriMo and the end of the MESSENGER mission, the first-ever Mercury orbiter. While I have no work connection with MESSENGER, I have many dear friends who have devoted years of their life to that project. While I have no right to share in the pride they feel, I do understand the bittersweetness of this day for them.

2015 Poetry Post 29: The Shouting

All over but the shouting,
but there should be
more shouting.
Others have accomplished less
but done so more loudly.
The house lights may rise
too quickly for my taste,
but your curtain calls
from iron-core fans
are well deserved.

2015 Poetry Post 28: Not Knowing

we romanticize not knowing
call it bliss
and innocence
the way we label people
who have committed
no crime.

what a happy, blameless
people we must be, then.
and how much more
blameless
we consider ourselves
when our cities are
struck by a bolide
we could have seen coming.

2015 Poetry Post 27: The Short Life and Rapid Death of the Royal Orbiting Dageurrotype Mission

Mycroft entered the briefing room,
bowed to the ministers
and opened his folder.

“We have enough data
to deduce the answer
to any question
we could ask.”
Dyson and Christie
shifted uncomfortably
in their chairs.

“Knowing the planets
have been
in their orbits
in perpetuity;
knowing that the
planetoids
have common origin
in an exploded body;
knowing all the matter
in the entire universe
must be observable;
I find the proposal
to launch a daguerrotype machine
about the Earth
technically feasible
but scientifically unnecessary.”

“God Save the King!”
said the exchequer.

The Astronomer Royal
moved to speak
“But what of the projects
the Americans study?
With Moriarty leading
a mission to study
the dynamics of an asteroid?”

Mycroft shook his jowls:
“For what it’s worth
regarding Moriarty
and others,
my brother defers
to my judgment
and he also agrees with me.”

2015 Poetry Post 26: Some Perspective

A click moves
hundreds of tons of metal
six time zones away
to spend five seconds
collecting photons
emitted decades ago
trillions of kilometers from here,
bounce them onto a crystal
of antimony and indium
to loosen electrons
and create an image
of a star
more than
one hundred times fainter
than a human eye can see.

Still, I am impatient.





----

(Image from the Mount Hamilton Landolt Standard Star List: https://mthamilton.ucolick.org/techdocs/standards/Stds_Landolt_16to20.html)

2015 Poetry Post 25: Very Different

"I'm glad I own property on this side of the Hudson

because it's not the side that's subducting."  she said 

as she mixed the butter and coffee concoction.

She went on about the asteroids she finds in her yard 

but I was caught up in whether the cows had to be grass-fed. 

He told me "I've been reading up on all this stuff. 

I know all about Europa and Titus 

And all the planets Kipling is finding."

I nodded a bit absently. 

At least he wasn't talking about the Mets 

for once.

"Oh, you're an astronomer not an astrologer?"

he corrected himself. 

"They're totally different, aren't they;

It'd be like mistaking a mathematician for an English teacher."

I paused and considered 

and simply agreed they are indeed

very different.

2015 Poetry Post 24: Fellow Travellers

we cannot always agree
on red or white,
the lake or the dunes.
i confess
i resent
when you’re
“a bit short”
and you sheepishly promise
to buy the next round
(or not so sheepishly
pretend not to notice).
but i do enjoy our travel together
and i am happy to
celebrate your successes
even if i inevitably
enjoy mine a little more.

2015 Poetry Post 23: On Finishing Things

it is harder to finish things
than it was
when i was younger.
i can cast aspersions
on the streaming decks
or blame distraction
from posies or jayhawks
or other voices.
i can note the mounting
obligations
that CANNOT WAIT
and a lengthening reading list
from better-looking people
with better ideas
and more talent
(who are actually really, really nice).
but if i look at the problem,
there just seems
like there’s always
more to say
and i can’t do the universe
any justice.

2015 Poetry Post 22: Earth Day

How soon could we have known
that it would be different,
that it would be special?
When would the modelers
have written the papers
saying the further one
was a red herring
and the closer one was doomed;
the icy and oily ones were places to go
but not places to be from,
and all the others were non-starters.
But the third one—
that had real potential,
as long as something
(or someone)
didn’t screw it up.

2015 Poetry Post 21: Shared Vision

long-awaited birth.
embarrassed eyes
turned away
but maturity brought
shared vision.
even in dotage
it towers
over a deep field.
we can look
to those calling
for early retirement and ask
who was near-sighted?

2015 Poetry Post 20: Re-entry

the unreality of my surroundings,
unmoored from the familiar,
the strange food and sleep schedule,
the science i strive understand
that’s been my job 24/7
now pauses
for re-entry:
not through fire and parachutes,
but crosswords
and blessed sleep.

2015 Post 19: When Collins Wakes

Did Collins wake 

above the sea of dreams

and have to take

a moment

to remember where

he was and why

he was there?

Did it seem real

to Collins then?

did he feel

as alone as he was?

And when he stirs

so long after 

is it a blur?

Or is this world fake

when Collins wakes?

2015 Poetry Post 18: Birthday Wishes

she was born
the month fdr died
as jupiter and neptune
ruled the night.

she rarely hears
any learn’d astronomer
much less look up in perfect silence,
though she has been known
to greet with much applause.

she may not know
about redshifts
or the Hubble constant
if asked
she can tell you about
the center of the universe.


---

So, it's my mom's 70th birthday and I figured I'd write her a poem.  In case it's not obvious, this is meant to be affectionate. :)

2015 Poetry Post 17: Haiku Day

giant ice planet
lightly brushed by human eyes
patiently waiting

2015 Poetry Post 16: Swoops and circles

The graphs and charts
have their own
garish beauty,
palettes covering
every color in the rainbow
swoops and circles
with delicate, intricate
precessions.
But they all encode
life or death matters.

Still,
Picasso and Bosch
and artists
through the ages
have also
done no less.

2015 Poetry Post 15: Untitled

black unwatched sky
with an unsoftened sun.
abandoned equipment
like toys left behind
by kids called home
for dinner
to the weird blue house.

2015 Poetry Post 14: A Grain of Sand

a grain of sand
in the right place
moving the right way
can inspire a wish
and move a heart

2015 Poetry Post 13: Working Scenarios

I sometimes imagine
that all of this work:
Looking for asteroids,
working scenarios,
strong personalities,
is all just like Act I
of a disaster film.

I remind myself that
I’m not so genre-savvy,
and that the
hubris and genius,
leading ladies,
swashbucklers,
villains and anti-heroes,
are working
not for a happy ending,
but to have no ending at all.

2015 Poetry Post 12: On Return Visits

So many ancient wonders
within three kilometers
of my position,
an easy walk.
With a bit more mobility,
I could reach
countless treasures.

But most of my time here
will be spent
in a convenient location
with a nondescript view,
Concentrating on the job
I was sent to do.

How much worse
would it be
if instead of a one
trip to Rome
of a series,
I were looking
out my window
at a fine regolith,
Earth hanging
in the
blackest of voids,
precious hours
used for
checklists
and catalogues,
with no prospect at all
of a farewell espresso
within sight
of the Apennines.

2015 Poetry Post 11: They worshiped

They worshiped
in a way we do not,
hoping for intervention
by Mars
rather than the reverse,
acknowledging the beauty
of Venus
instead of
dwelling on unearthliness,
dreading acquaintance
with Pluto
instead of eagerly anticipating it.

2015 Poetry Post 10: She Could Be

The woman next
to me gushed when
she learned
I was an astronomer.
She asked me
the usual questions
and I was happy
to answer.
She said I
was so lucky
and I couldn't
disagree.

She says
she wanted
to be
a scientist
but
never
thought
she was good
enough.
I could tell her
that I'm sure
she would be
good enough,
but would that
be a kindness
to her?

2015 Poetry Post 9: Pearls made of beads

It came together
softly,
we think:
a beaded work
of ice and glass
with pieces born
throughout the solar system
and pieces borne
on hydrogen winds.

The first push
must have been soft
as well.
After eons beyond Neptune
perhaps a gentle tug from an
unknowable star
or a poke from an
anonymous neighbor.
A change in speed
a glacier could outrun
leading to catastrophic
climate change.

The first encounter
was by chance
if inevitable.
A random disassembly,
violent but low-stress,
more Roche than rock
as pearls made of beads
were served on plates
full of stars.

When the end came
we were privileged to watch.
Ice and glass
borne on hydrogen winds
in a ceremony completed
by uncounted
and unwatched
cousins before.

---

This is something of a group effort: The excellent Christine Reuter and Noam Izenberg are also writing poems on the topic of Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 today, and there's the chance some others will also join us!

I'd also be remiss not to point out this is SL9's second appearance as a poem subject. I wrote about it in 2012, though that has a very different slant. I've also incorporated a bit of more recent science into this one. :)

2015 Poetry Post 8: Questions in my head while traveling from south to north

What will we bring
with us
into the galaxy
if humanity
expands
as some say
we must?

Will the first tattoo
predate the first PhD?
Will the first dive bar be constructed
before the first statuary is commissioned?
Will we construct townships
of obsolescent habitats
before we build kindergartens
and teach kids
what it means
to be "it"?

Will the first mojito be poured
before the first hangover is suffered?

2015 Poem 7: Ode to an old telescope

What we have seen.
Carding the beams
as mice fell to the ground.
Artifacts found,
come-alongs to winch
when short by an inch
or as much as a meter.

Still, little was sweeter
than a stack that was tight
on a warm moonless night,
non-sidereal tracking
(a short time for slacking).
Skies that could not be clearer.

And multiple mirrors.

2015 Poetry Post 6: Begrudging a few bounces

If we consider
what they knew,
what we knew
back then,
it’s even more
impressive.

Our attention
was still on erotic pictures,
and steins
yet to be filled,
far from holmes
with no cares for
papers on plastic bags.

It sailed from a world
buzzing with PDAs,
sailing with majesty
and beefy instruments,
moving the way we liked.
And if it did not stick the landing,
after so many years,
surely we cannot begrudge
a few bounces.

2015 Poetry Post 5: Misconceptions

I may have grimaced
when the sophomore from Connecticut
asked me how many people
go to the moon every year.

"Zero" I said.
She was surprised and asked
why.
"Nixon."
was my only response.

I must have shook my head
When the macher from Johannesburg
asserted that nobody
had ever visited the moon.

"We certainly have" I responded.
"Why hasn't anyone gone back?"
He asked.
I've noted
 that I've asked that myself.

The conversation turned
to life and Mars
to elements and the stars
to comets and impacts
to mining and contracts

By the end
I know
we all were smiling.

2015 Poetry Post 4: An Excerpt from the "Tau Ceti Haggadah"

The problem arose
with the first Mars colonies
who fixed the festival
to Jerusalem time
and saw it precess
through the seasons
like Ramadan and Eid,

Things became pressing
during the Second Exodus.

Rabbi Izenberg argued
that time dilation
and speed uncertainties
required shipboard
commemoration untethered
from Earthbound calendars,
Rabbi Rhoden advocated
a new calendar for each system.

So began the Kochavim tradition
of eating simple foods
similar to ship’s rations
during the holiday.

Rabbi Wolven added
a sixth cup of wine
to the seder
for reasons
that are lost
to time.

2015 Poetry Post 3: The Sea Haunts the Camp

The sea haunts the camp.
We can turn our back
to it
and face
the churning
whirring
polyglot delights
and despairs
of the home we
know and love,
and resolve
to take on
its problems
and inequities.

But still we hear
the roar
of the sea
imploring
teasing
mocking us
to take to the water,
pick a direction,
and see
what else is out there

even if we know we cannot swim.

2015 Poem 2: FOMO

Somewhere a volcano is erupting
beneath the pastel glare of a giant planet,
Pele crying on a world
that only knows her kin
through projection.

Somewhere an anonymous
floating iceberg
feels the tug of a foreign star,
throwing it from
precarious balance
to meet its doom
in an echo of Icarus

Somewhere a hillside
sees the morning sun
for the first time since
the time of the Inca,
and nitrogen awakes
only to wander the surface
in search of a site
for further slumber.

All this and more in front of our eyes
How can I sleep and miss out?

2015 Poetry Post 1: Even Now

Even now,
with folders full
of half-finished tales
waiting for clear mind
and clear schedule
not clear sky,

even now,
when long-awaited
ships have sailed
to cheers,
yet still wearying
on our Sisyphean band,

even now,
worlds uncounted
ruddy and pale
remind me why
I came
and why I stay.