Pete's Sci Fi Poems

Alien life

2011-04-14T13:58:00.001-07:00

Yes, there may be planets somewhere
in the coldest, furthest outposts
that we have not explored fully.
And yes, it is a possibility
that there might be bacteria hiding
underneath some scattered boulder
in among a thousand others
on a crater floor not scanned yet.
But generally there is consensus,
now we’ve spread out from our homeland
to the furthest constellations
(only dreamt of when we started)
that no-one else is here except us.

Legend has it, we were cocksure
when we first began to travel,
that the data indicated
other tribes would be encountered
as we travelled through the galaxies.
Mathematic probability
told us there would be life somewhere,
maybe not as we imagined,
maybe not devolved from carbon,
maybe not reliant on oxygen.
Thus, we set off, keen and hopeful,
sending probes into the blackness,
pulsing signals through the universe,
waiting, waiting for an answer.
But as the silence roared like engines,
more and more we realised that
life was just a chance encounter
on one insignificant planet.

Archeological excavations
on our long-dead frozen homeland
seem to propagate the theory
that in mankind’s short pre-history,
the earth was full of alien creatures,
quadrupeds that roamed in millions,
things that flew without a space-drive,
beings that survived in water,
tubes that slithered on their bellies,
and other strange exotic creatures
that could not move their limbs from earth
but fed upon the carbon dioxide.
But by the time that we moved onwards,
all of these had disappeared,
killed perhaps in some great battle
to determine master species.
If only we had known at that time
that the universe was silent,
perhaps we could have worked together,
to resolve our alien differences.

The big noses of Okravia

2011-04-13T00:08:00.001-07:00

If you want to insult an Okravian,
don’t tell him he has a big nose.
The size of their snout
is all they brag about –
a small one just makes them morose.

Their noses stretch down to their diaphragms,
corrugated like wash-machine hoses.
They’ll paint them and draw them
and constantly paw them.
They’re terribly proud of their noses.

They attach heavy weights when they’re babies
and stretch them with pebbles as well
which explains why they’ve got
an abundance of snot
and possess such a great sense of smell.

Status in Okravian circles
is determined by conk size alone.
Large hooters are cool
and those with them rule
and the largest ascends to the throne.

So if you’ve a beak like a mallard
or some other aquatic avian,
don’t worry, don’t pout
at the size of your snout-
ask your Dad if you’re partly Okravian.

Semi sexual

2011-04-12T23:54:00.001-07:00

“How primitive you Earthlings are!”
the Sirian guffawed
and all his mates
slapped shiny pates
and shook with one accord.

“You mean to say your race is split
‘twixt one sex and the other?
So it takes two
to spawn a crew –
a father and a mother?

‘In every other race in space,
one being is sufficient.
But you must ‘mate’
to germinate?
My God! How inefficient”

“That’s how we like it,” Rasher said,
“however you construe it.
But that’s not all-
you’ll have a ball
when you hear how we do it!”

Fleecing the natives

2011-04-11T11:11:00.001-07:00

They arrived here one day
from a star far away
and announced that they wanted to trade.
They came down in New Delhi
and the world watched on telly
as the first introductions were made.

They looked like large lizards
with external gizzards
and antennae that hovered and quivered.
And we gawped at the features
of these alien creatures
or crouched behind armchairs and shivered.

Well they gave us quixonium
and a ton of vulconium
and the secret of hyperspace travel,
an elixir of youth,
a diviner of truth
and a prettily-shaped wooden gavel.

They cured all diseases
from cancer to sneezes
and gave us a tele-transporter
and a device to read minds,
some Neptunian blinds
and some shoes that could walk over water.

In return they requested
two suits, double-breasted
and woven from pure polycotton.
Then their engines ignited
and they flew off, delighted
at the wonderful bargain they’d gotten.

Thirteen ships

2011-04-11T11:01:00.001-07:00

Thirteen ships and none came back
from Titan’s atmosphere.
They vanished deep into the black
and did not reappear.

What befell the ships and crew?
Alas, we’ve no idea.
No signal gave us half a clue
how we should move from here.

How is it that thirteen ships
can simply disappear.
The radar screen no longer blips
for reasons still unclear.

Theories on the web abound –
did Voltoids interfere?
Did they come down on marshy ground?
Or was it diarrhoea?

Were the spaceships washed away
on some magnetic weir?
Did Gozons, seeking an affray,
attack them from the rear?

Is there something most aggressive
most of us should fear?
Something precious and possessive,
destroying all things near.

The families demand we act
to find their near and dear,
although they know, in actual fact,
a search will bring small cheer.

Thirteen ships abruptly snatched
in Titan’s stratosphere.
Should number fourteen be despatched?
Who wants to volunteer?

Sofas in a cornfield

2011-04-11T10:51:00.001-07:00

We’ve travelled quite a distance just to pay you guys a visit.
What a lovely place you had! We find it quite exquisite,
the little farmhouse built, it seems from wood and bricks and mortar,
the fields of corn now covered in what looks like frozen water.

As visitors, of course, we could not land here empty-handed.
We had to bring a present, but to be extremely candid,
you didn’t seem to like the gift we left for you last summer,
judging by the way that you described it as a bummer.

You see, back on our planet, the circle is revered –
the geometric formula has all but disappeared.
And so we thought it neighbourly to pull out all the stops
and sculpt a perfect circle in the middle of your crops.

But sadly, it appears ‘twas not the perfect choice of present
(as I recall, you stamped your feet and mouthed words most unpleasant.)
We think that this new gift of ours is really quite delectable
and hope you find these sofas just a little more acceptable.

The last time I was there

2011-04-11T10:49:00.001-07:00

The last time I was there, it really saddened me
that they had shrugged their shoulders and accepted it –
the inertia of humanity had maddened me.

Some claimed perhaps they should have intercepted it
and tried to blow that comet off trajectory
but most just shrugged their shoulders and accepted it.

The ballot, as announced, was ex-directory.
Rigged, of course, but still there was no clamour
to blow that lethal comet off trajectory.

Did they roam the streets with axe and hammer
as the airlift blew its smoke upon the doomed?
Twigged, of course, but still there was no clamour

as the rich flew off as the Day of Judgement loomed
with me a tiny stowaway in the hold.
I watched the plumes of smoke blot out the doomed

but saw the meek acceptance of the old.
The last time I was there, yes, it had saddened me
but more, though just a stowaway in the hold,
the inertia of humanity had maddened me.

An equanimity of being

2011-04-11T10:46:00.001-07:00

And so I wait
to meet my fate
amid the ears of corn.
The deep blue sky
seems very high
upon this tragic morn.
No gentle breeze
stirs distant trees –
the stillness is complete.
I’m all alone
with all I own
within this field of wheat.

There’s not a cloud
to be my shroud –
the sun shines warm and bright.
To reminisce
on days like this
would be a false delight.
I turn my head
and watch instead
an ant explore my arm.
Not long to wait,
he’ll share my fate
on Matt O’Driscoll’s farm.

I cannot spot
the tiny dot
but know it must be nearing.
There is no doubt,
they’ve worked it out,
it should be soon appearing.
Death from the sky,
the end is nigh.
The air weighs on me quickly.
We can’t avoid
the asteroid –
at least we’ll all go quickly.

Exhibits

2009-12-05T14:16:00.001-08:00

It came through the clouds with a great sonic boom,
I watched it descend from a height.
The alien ship landed outside Macroom,
Oh God! What a wonderful sight!

The lights were all blazing, its body span round
As I sat on the gate with my friend.
I felt the earth shake as the wheels touched ground
And we both watched the ladder descend.

‘Twas like a great robot with green flashing eyes
And it held a great butterfly net.
Myself and Lucille were struck dumb with surprise –
For how long though, I find I forget.

And then came a flash and a bit of a buzz
And up through the ether we flew
And we woke to find aliens gawping at us
As exhibits in some far-off zoo.

Choice

2009-10-26T16:16:00.001-07:00

This was it, she thought, cradling him in arms
that would never hold another. The sun
beat down on the last of the old yeast farms,
now mouldy. She sobbed and glanced at the gun
that they had primed and left. The burden bore
down on her shoulders. Was it the right
thing to do, or should she allow the night
to swallow her up, the natural law?
But did it matter? No-one left to judge
or point long weatherbeaten fingers.
But still, she thought, the suspicion lingers
that history might bear a lasting grudge.
A sand-encrusted tear ran down her face,
like the frenzied survivor of its race.

Strategic Defence System

2009-07-30T07:51:00.000-07:00

The spaceship sat high above the planet
Scanning the surface with its radar dish.
It resembled a hovering gannet
Waiting above the ocean for a fish.
“Still no break,” grunted Kovacs yet again.
“The entire planet appears to be criss-crossed
By radio waves. Our ship would be tossed
And battered if we came down. It’s insane!”
“This is a waste of time,” said Captain Drake.
“We’ll try the next one. Makes you wonder why
A planet should go to such lengths to try
To hide its secrets. We can’t even make
Communication.” Below, like strange clones,
Another ten million people reached for their phones.

Invasion imminent

2009-07-10T06:23:00.001-07:00

It seems they’ve set their evil plan in motion
And secretly released those greenhouse gases.
The gaping hole above the Southern Ocean
Will spell the end of our collective asses.

The only thing in space they feared was ozone.
The strongest of their missiles couldn’t dent it.
A world with such a layer was a no-go zone
Until they found a way to circumvent it.

And, as the hole grows larger, they’ll come streaming
Through the layer that once protected us.
And we’ll fall victim to their dev’lish scheming
And suffer as a conquered planet does.

It will be a lamentable occasion
When conquered by these warlike Cosmic elves,
But the worst thing in regard to this invasion –
We’ll think we’ve orchestrated it ourselves.

He was only gone a minute

2009-03-03T00:36:00.001-08:00

He was only gone a minute.
He’d been distracted by a question
From a student with a clipboard,
Who’d a problem generating
Small amoeba on his planet.

He was only gone a minute
But it was a crucial minute,
For the water level gauge
Which was increased just a fraction
Needed further realignment.

Weeks of work were nearly wasted
As the life-forms cultivated
In the foaming global test-tube
Nearly vanished altogether
In the mass of rising water.

It must be said that quick reactions
When he realised his faux pas
And turned down the rising water
To a life-supporting level
Averted a great calamity.

And it was a stroke of fortune
That a tiny microcosm
Of each species bred and reared
Had been saved from mass extinction,
Floating on a tiny splinter.

Retribution

2009-02-23T12:32:00.001-08:00

Stepping through the door, the warden laid
A kindly hand upon Sanchez’ arm.
“Head up, son, and do not be afraid.

You will be most speedily conveyed
To your maker with angelic calm.”
Thus was the warden’s final card played.

Sanchez did not launch a loud tirade
Against this institutional smarm.
Arms outstretched and fingers tautly splayed,

He smiled at the warden’s masquerade,
Then turned to the door without a qualm.
The warden stepped out again, dismayed

At a law so archaic and unweighed.
Breathing deep, he turned on the alarm.
The door slid shut. He said a decade

Of the rosary. The far door made
No sound. The remnant of a last psalm
Died, as the full horror did pervade.

Like the bullet that killed the housemaid,
Spat in haste by his trembling firearm,
Sanchez shot into the cold arcade.

The final star

2009-02-09T12:59:00.001-08:00

When the final star
Is just a dot behind you,
When you’ve gone as far
As anyone can go,
That’s the very place
The inner voice will find you
And God’s pure grace
Will doubtless start to flow.

When all ahead
Is night and night forever,
When light has fled
And darkness closes in,
He’ll come to you
E’en though you mightn’t ever
Have known the true
Indifference of sin.

And though the course
Is destined to end badly,
You’ll feel his force
Around you as you fly.
And when your ship
Begins to shudder madly,
He’ll smoothe your trip
And close your panicked eye.

Vanished

2009-01-29T12:45:00.000-08:00

Nobody was sure what became of wee Ron.
One sec he was there, and the next he was gone.

It reminded the neighbours of eight year old Claire
Who vanished one Tuesday night into thin air.

And Jimmy McLoughlin and Michelle McGrane
Who emitted a “Pop!” and were ne’er seen again.

Another dimension?
Who knows what befell
Young Jimmy and Claire and wee Ron and Michelle?
.

Racism 2108

2009-01-14T15:36:00.000-08:00

The Jovian economy’s overheated.
It’s meltdown on a quite enormous scale.
The planet’s market forces are depleted
And thereby hangs a cautionary tale.

We need to cut back greatly on our borrowing.
We need to rein the banks in very fast.
If we don’t there will be no tomorrowing,
Our present rate of spending cannot last…

There’s been an influx from the Giant Planet,
These Jovians work hard for little pay.
Immigration? Some say we should ban it,
There’s not enough to go around today.

Why don’t they go to Venus or to Saturn?
Why are they always drawn to Mother Earth?
Each solar crisis follows this same pattern,
Regression to the planet of life’s birth.

If we allow them all in willy-nilly,
It isn’t only Earthlings who will suffer.
The present laws are spurious and silly –
It’s time our well-paid leaders made them tougher.

The liberals point out our own global crisis
When billions had to leave our choking lands
And populate those worlds where hard-packed ice is
More prevalent than warm inviting sands.

But that was way back then. The story’s altered
And economic migrants keep arriving.
It’s no surprise the Jovian dollar faltered
And left their banking system far from thriving.

Of course their culture has to be respected
Their ethics and morality are renowned,
But if our living standards are affected,
It’s time we drew the line and stood our ground.

The day the music really died

2009-01-14T15:01:00.000-08:00

No storm clouds blotted out the sky,
No thunder crashed in doom-filled peals.
No trumpets blared the news on high,
No chariots of fire sped by
On rolling, flashing wheels.

‘Twas just a day wherein the breeze
Roved lightly over hedge and street
And rustled leaves in stately trees
In pleasant seventeen degrees
Of lazy springtime heat.

But dotted all around the world,
No-one could soothe the songsmiths’ feelings.
And imprecations long were hurled
And smoke from ashtrays gaily curled
On up to blackened ceilings.

For though they paced with frantic tread,
No songs of note could be composed.
It was as if the Muse had fled
From every earnest songsmith’s head,
Or resolutely dozed.

Whatever set of notes they strummed
Or plucked, or sang with voices fair,
Whatever mournful tune they hummed,
One by one they all succumbed
To tearing out their hair.

For every song that could be writ
Had now been writ. And though they blew
And drew their bows, and though they bit
Their bottom lips, they had to quit
Composing something new.

And after days and weeks, they cried
And flung their fiddles in the bin.
It was the day the music died
When every songsmith joined the tide
And packed the business in.

And no more music e’er was heard,
No rise and fall of pitch and tone,
And though it might seem quite absurd,
Each hitherto expressive bird
Now chirped in monotone.

And soon a dark’ning gloom descended,
Blacker still than any night.
The Music Age abruptly ended,
The grasping claws of death extended,
Blocking out the light.
.

The Astravore

2008-11-27T08:26:00.001-08:00

Oh earth, beware!
You should prepare
To cower before
The Astravore.

With fearsome scowl
And thund’rous growl,
The Astravore
Keeps wanting more.

His hungry face
Roves large through space.
How men deplore
The Astravore!

He’ll munch a sun
And when he’s done,
The Astravore
Spits out the core.

His habits make
Star systems quake.
You won’t ignore
The Astravore.

His breath is stale,
Galaxies quail.
The Astravore
Eats planets raw.

Long term schemes
And plans and dreams
Have one great flaw –
The Astravore.

He hears no plea.
You cannot flee
The Astravore
And his great jaw.

He gobbles stars
Like choc’late bars,
Then chews a straw –
The Astravore.

Stop and chat
And chew the fat?
The Astravore
Brooks no rapport.

Some fearful suns
Are building guns
To underscore
The Astravore.

But he’ll win out
Without a doubt.
The Astravore
Will relish war.

Its best, they say,
To creep away.
Discretion, or
The Astravore?

The lie

2008-11-09T19:23:00.000-08:00

One night, the stars came floating down
Like paratroopers, bathed in light.
They fell on countryside and town
And fields and roofs were clothed in white,
Cold starflakes silent as the night.

They say the moon came down as well
And landed near Trincomalee
And natives set off through the swell
To where they thought that it should be,
But it had sunk beneath the sea.

Three days the starfall cloaked the earth
And then it slowly turned to slush
Till soon there wasn’t tuppenceworth
Between Portrush and Hindu Kush.
And then there fell a deathly hush

As all the world looked up and saw
The inside of a jet-black dome.
No pinpricks twinkling as before –
Just us, squashed in our dismal home,
Our squalid, lonely hippodrome.

And then, when realisation hit,
We marched upon the college gates
With oil-swabbed torches brightly lit
And flung them on mendacious slates
And blocked the doors with burning crates.

And to the media too, for they
Had propagated all those lies.
No mercy. By the light of day
Those bastards were cut down to size,
No more to gloat and moralise.

And then the churches and the banks
And Government buildings and the shops.
We razed the world in armoured tanks
And burnt out forests, deserts, crops,
Then set ablaze the mountain tops.

And soon the whole world was on fire
And night time was no longer black
And raucous voices formed a choir,
As choking ash rained down like flak.
Alone. There could be no way back.

Creation

2008-10-31T03:12:00.000-07:00

The pilot said a prayer for fecund seas,
As millions of amoeba floated down,
Borne lightly on the soft primaeval breeze

To flourish in the ocean? Or to drown?
The hull was empty now. He turned for home,
As millions of amoeba floated down

To thrive or die beneath the rolling foam
Which scientists had deemed a likely place.
The hull was empty now. He turned for home,

Imagining the culture of this race
Light years from now upon this barren world,
Which scientists had deemed a likely place.

What wondrous future had he just unfurled?
The human race descended to its birth
Light years from now upon this barren world.

“It’s good,” he thought and, as he gazed on earth,
The pilot said a prayer for fecund seas.
The human race descended to its birth,
Borne lightly on the soft primaeval breeze.

Whoops!

2008-10-21T18:29:00.001-07:00

The spacemen climbed out of the capsule,

And went for a walk on the moon.

They told the pilot to wait for an hour,

They were sure to be back pretty soon.

But one of their watches was faulty,

The one they were relying upon,

And when they got back to the launch pad,

Apollo 8-40 had gone.

The pilot splashed down in the ocean

To great universal applause,

Till somebody casually asked him

“Hey, Bob, where’s those comrades of yours?”

Godless

2008-09-30T21:29:00.000-07:00

On Lube, they told their god they didn’t need him.
They said he was passé and obsolete.
There wasn’t anybody to succeed him
But Lubans had been disinclined to heed him
Since the failure of the last three crops of wheat.

They locked the doors of all the planet’s churches
And sent him on his way in pouring rain,
And, as he passed the row of golden birches,
They cried out from their lofty tree top perches,
“Get thee hence and don’t come back again.”

It’s hard to be a god without a people,
Cast out when praise is shouted down by bile.
Oh, do not think that folk, like faithful sheep,’ll
Keep singing adorations ‘neath the steeple
If they do not think the contract is worthwhile.

Planet Kopicka

2008-09-30T21:10:00.001-07:00

Millions of years evolved.
The future lay unresolved.
Some fishes neared the shore,
Poked out their snouts and saw
White beaches, verdant trees.
They felt the balmy breeze,
They felt the two suns’ heat,
The perfumed air so sweet.
They nodded knowingly
And swam back out to sea.

Conscientious

2008-09-30T19:51:00.001-07:00

“Shall I bother?” thought Zakowski. “It’s a long, long way to go
And germination prob’ly won’t take place.
If I just go on back home, chances are they’ll never know –
It’s only fifteen parsecs back to base.

“If just one in a thousand will accept the DNA,
The odds are quite against this trip’s success.
I must have done ten thousand since the scheme got underway,
And only five have taken, maybe less.

“My wife is waiting for me, now the mission’s near its end.
I’ve missed her in the months we’ve been apart.
Her hologram’s quite faded and, besides, it doesn’t lend
Itself to any matters of the heart.”

But Zakowski was an honest man who worked hard for his pay
And he fully understood the mission’s worth.
So, with crate-loads of amoeba piled up in the holding bay,
He turned the spaceship round to planet Earth.

A first for Dad

2008-09-30T19:36:00.001-07:00

Oh Dad, you’ve gone down in the annals,
Though you’re somewhere out there in the void.
The police found a few of the panels
Of your ship on that small asteroid.

No, drinking and driving’s not clever,
Our family dare not show it’s face,
But you’re now down in hist’ry forever
As the first traffic victim in space.

Malfunction

2008-09-06T00:15:00.000-07:00

Akureyri was awoken
By the one word, harshly spoken.
“Malfunction!” the robotic voice repeated.
She jumped up on all four legs,
Like an Onkur smashing eggs,
Her glist’ning brain cell nearly overheated.

She hit the button without thinking,
Her great eyelid wildly blinking
And the siren echoed all throughout the station.
“Sector Five!” she called out tersely
As the red lights flashed perversely,
“An imminent escape of radiation!”

Through the door The Chief came tumbling,
Half awake and loudly grumbling,
“What’s the damage?” she demanded, stern and prickly.
“Robot cargo ship,” responded
Akureyri. “Sector One did
All the checks before it left,” she went on quickly.

“Hyperspace has been suspended,”
Said The Chief. “This can’t be mended.
There’s going to be a big explosion shortly.
That vesuvium consignment
Must have shifted its alignment.
Suddenly she looked quite old and portly.

There was nothing they could do
Except sit back and watch the view,
And presently the monitor flashed brightly.
“That’s a Magnitude Fifteen,”
Declared The Chief, her face quite green.
“Just like your brain?” quipped Akureyri lightly.

And they watched as that great ship
Dimmed to just a giant blip,
Continuing its journey through the sector.
“Better wait a week or two,”
Said The Chief, “and then will you
Arrange for a transporter to collect ‘er?”

On a planet with one moon,
In a desert, ‘pon a dune,
There sat a king, now many years anointed,
And he watched that flash of light
Burning brightly through the night,
And called out to his two fellow kings and pointed.

Dinner

2008-08-07T06:11:00.001-07:00

This world was like a tomb sent idly spinning,
Frozen as it slipped its sun’s frayed rope.
So it had been once in the beginning,
But then the new-formed sun engendered hope.

Despite his thermal spacesuit, Rajic shivered
And wished the dying sun were not so grey.
He knew that he was being lily-livered
But boy, he missed the gentle warmth of day.

Beside him, Saganaki’s space-wand trembled
And shot a beam of pure white light through space.
Rajic thought his partner’s mouth resembled
The letter ‘O’ writ white upon his face.

“No energy exists where all is frozen,”
Said Saganaki, quoting schoolbook text.
“But where’s it been transferred? God! Just supposin’…”
He stopped, afraid of what would happen next.

“Mental energy! Of course!” yelled Rajic.
“Matter reconstructed as pure thought!”
Too late! They were consumed as if by magic,
As the planet feasted well on astronaut.

The silver footed blorks of North Arkiti

2008-07-31T11:10:00.000-07:00

The silver footed blorks of North Arkiti
Are the most expensive animals in space.
Hunting was abolished by a treaty
But their flesh is so mouth-wateringly meaty
That incidents of poaching still take place.

Its wool is prized in fashionable society
From Cundra to the asteroids of Zong.
It should not be cut off with impropriety,
But harvested with reverence and piety
To make sure it’s replenished thick and strong.

Its milk has been described as golden nectar,
Elixir of the gods, Arkitians claim.
The firm’s all-powerful managing director
Is the wealthiest food magnate in the sector,
Built upon the blork milk’s far-flung fame.

Racing draws an audience of billions,
With omnivision rights now through the roof.
Not only have blorks legend’ry resilience
And leap the fences with athletic brilliance,
But also they possess great speed of hoof.

Yes the silver-footed blork’s a wondrous mammal,
Reaching up to fifteen menzines tall
Withstanding drought much better than a camel,
With shiny antlers of high-grade enamel,
It is perhaps the finest of them all.

The circle of life

2008-07-31T11:07:00.000-07:00

Humans never figured how to travel,
So stayed within their tiny solar system.
The physics were too tangled to unravel
And though they had the clues, alas! they missed ‘em.

Without the means to garner fresh resources,
Technology could make no further gains.
People turned again to gats and horses,
Tethered to abandoned cars and trains.

Closer to the sun, dense vegetation
Dried and withered in the seering heat.
Disease and famine smote the population.
Animals were wiped out for their meat.

Hunting food, the world became nomadic,
Sleeping under cliffs or in small caves.
Tribes became aggressive, yet sporadic,
Wand’ring o’er a million billion graves.

In the desert, ape-men slowly dwindled
And gradually slunk back into the sea,
Waiting for the fire to be rekindled,
Waiting for someone to turn the key

The breakthrough

2008-07-31T11:05:00.000-07:00

The galaxies all spiral round in space,
Some outside our telescopic vision.
Some have disappeared without a trace,
Imploding with a natural precision.

Once we thought that’s all there ever was –
Matter merely in our own dimension.
Partial understanding though, because
The concept was too great for comprehension.

But since Littbarski’s stunning revelations
‘Bout different universes, different spaces,
We’ve filled the blanks in our imaginations,
Viewed things from an omnipresent basis.

Sleep and dreams, telepathy and karma,
Miracles, coincidence and thought,
The powers of the shaman and the lama,
All revealed at once in one report.

We’re only at the start of understanding
How every space can interact with ours,
But now the breakthrough’s come, we’ll be demanding
Total exploration of these powers.

Permanent Fimanent

2008-07-31T11:03:00.000-07:00

If you’re outside of the city on a fresh and clear night,
The stars that light the firmament present a wondrous sight.
To sit and watch the movement of the mighty constellations
Must surely rank as one of the most engaging occupations.

Ursa Major, Ursa Minor and Cassiopaeia,
Aquarius the Water Bearer, Ethelred the Queer,
Jonothan the Ambulance, Parsenon the Newt,
Not forgetting Ribbentrop, the Double-Breasted Suit.

But when I gaze upon the stars, I’m filled with fear and dread,
Those billion zillion tonnes of matter perched above my head.
I know that they are far away and doubtless will not fall –
What worries me is whether they are really there at all.

Without reverting too much to an astronomic lecture,
The stars and their existence is a point of mere conjecture.
The distances themselves might be the source of the confusion
Presenting us with what might be an optical illusion.

Save for the Sun, the nearest star lies four light-years away,
Within this myriad of light we call the Milky Way.
So when we gaze upon a star, what we in fact can see
Is how the bastard used to look, way back in history.

It really is quite spooky, looking back into the past,
Before the time of dinosaurs, before Elastoplast,
Before the birth of Marvin Gaye, before the earth had cooled,
Way back into history when only Chaos ruled.

The point that I am trying to make requires a stoic mind,
Providing, as it does, for the destruction of our kind.
And if you’ve given out a loan, or started on a course,
The implications of this thought will fill you with remorse.

Supposing that, three years ago, the universe collapsed,
But we will not find out until another year has lapsed.
The light from even the nearest star will take a year to reach us,
Before we get an inkling of the death of all God’s creatures.

So when I gaze upon the stars, it isn’t with humility,
Rather it is with a sense of our own fallibility,
The stars that I can gaze upon perhaps do not exist,
So I am going to spend this next year permanently pissed.

Time to go

2008-07-31T08:43:00.000-07:00

It’s time to go, Larbowski thought,
As yet another jet of steam
Fired high outside the spaceship port.

He tried to catch a fleeting dream
That flickered somewhere in his mind.

The purple ocean fizzed and crashed
Against this island ill-defined,
As soot rained down and lightning flashed.

This continent, this vast domain,
Where drops of life-spawn first emerged,
Had shrivelled to a tiny grain
Of sand that soon would be submerged.
The screaming wind howled loud with pain
As land and sea and sky converged.

‘Tis not the planet of my birth,
But still my halting breath is caught
To watch the death of Mother Earth.

It’s time to go, Larbowski thought.

Martyr

2008-07-31T08:40:00.000-07:00

They said it was a union, a means to bolster trade,
“Empire” never figured in their speeches.
The “common good” was cited why a treaty should be made
Between those at the galaxy’s far reaches.

No missile strikes or laser bombs had ever been employed,
The conquest had been courteously financial.
More than mere space dust linked those planets through the void,
And the benefits at first were quite substantial.

But then effusium subsidies attained an all-time low
And rumours came of unrest ‘mong the miners.
There’d been a lengthy boycott of the airport in Mondeau
When there’d been a blockade of spaceport liners.

Anti-Dongli slogans had been seared on Council walls
In worlds as far apart as Ska and Humming.
The promised large investment in the Aconada Falls
Had never, claimed the rebels, been forthcoming.

But though great hardship beckoned if secession should take place,
The Nationalists still spoke out for it strongly.
Cut the economic ties (the slogan grew apace)
You cut the chains that bind us fast to Dongli.

But there were Dongli citizens throughout the trade accord
And Dongli wouldn’t stop, said the Prefectum,
At deploying all the weaponry that it had wisely stored
For they would stop at nothing to protect ‘em.

And that, my darling children’s how your father lost his life.
On Ska they built a golden statue to him.
But sometimes kids amid the current economic strife,
I do not care a jot how people view him.

National Security

2008-07-31T08:38:00.000-07:00

“Goddamn! It was our patriotic duty!”
Podolski shouted from the wooden chair.
“For you, the whole shebang is tutti-frutti.
For you, there are no anarchists out there!
But in my world, subversion’s all around us.
It’s difficult to tell who’s friend or foe.
Those who strive in secret to confound us
Are people that we like to think we know.”

The prosecutor pressed his hands together
And gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Mister Podolski, can I ask you whether
You actually believe these bare-faced lies?
Senator McClinton from Kentucky?
Senator de Fraine from Tennessee?
And all those others who were just unlucky
To have opposed your boss politic’lly?
You’re telling us, the people and the nation,
That all of these are en’mies of the state?
Linked to some subversive org’nisation?
Seeking to destroy all we create?”
The prosecutor turned, his arched expression
Seeking to evince complete surprise.

Podolski lounged back, giving the impression
He didn’t give a damn ‘bout swatting flies.
“Listen bud, you’ve really no idea
‘Bout the private lives of those we bugged.
I know what lurks beneath that bright veneer.”
Here Podolski paused awhile and shrugged.
“You want me to reveal the conversations
Of McClinton and de Fraine and all the rest?
Are you prepared for all the revelations?
You sure you want to put me to the test?”

He’s like a cobra, thought the prosecutor,
Cold of blood and lacking all compassion.
In days of yore, he’d pack a mean six-shooter
And kill you in an antiseptic fashion.

The bugging had been clinical and chilling,
A little chip installed inside a tooth.
Thirteen bugs, each hidden in a filling,
Until a drunken dentist spilled the truth.
Security had been the reason cited,
Each victim had at least one dubious friend.
Podolski was the first to be indicted
And no-one knew quite where the trail would end.

But before the prosecutor’d time to answer,
The judge’s gavel smote the hollow bench.
“Adjourned until tomorrow,” said Judge Dancer.
“Clear the courtroom – there’s an awful stench.”
The prosecutor rose in protestation
But withered ‘neath Judge Dancer’s sternest gaze.
Deep down he knew at once the situation –
Pay the money and the piper plays.

McClinton and de Fraine met at the Hilton.
De Fraine could only nibble at his bread.
“Don’t worry,” said McClinton. “Pass the Stilton.
Tomorrow Piers Podolski will be dead.”

An Unprovoked Attack

2008-07-31T08:35:00.000-07:00

‘Twas only a comet, a poor harmless comet,
Searing a trail through the blackness of space,
All kinds of gases were streaming out from it,
This poor, harmless comet we chose to deface.

It wasn’t a danger to human existence,
Trajectory-wise, it would come nowhere near.
It gave no offence and it showed no resistance,
The sizable distance held nothing to fear.

It minded its business, while shining out brightly,
Its orbit a million miles distant from ours,
But scientists charted it daily and nightly,
And thought it unsightly, compared to the stars.

The ambush was sprung and the signal was triggered,
The missile flew out in a one-sided war.
The large, gaping hole in its surface was figured
To render it jiggered right down to the core.

Why did we attack it, this beautiful body,
Slicing through space in its innocent bliss?
The arguments for it are futile and shoddy –
In truth, there’s nobody can justify this.

It still stumbles blindly, this sad, wounded comet,
Shot down inhumanely for human conceit.
Great oceans of red blood are streaming out from it,
This poor, harmless comet now dead on its feet.

Published in Astronomy Ireland

Evening

2008-07-31T08:32:00.000-07:00

The universe is rapidly expanding,
Shooting out from one small central point.
Its at the boundaries of understanding.
All time, it seems, is grossly out of joint.

From any point in space, all universes
Accelerate away at rising speeds.
And as all matter there-within disperses,
Einstein’s Law of Time then supercedes.

The night sky stars will gradually grow fainter,
As they accelerate throughout the void.
Our views of space will doubtless grow much quainter,
Our thinking, though, will stay quite humanoid.

One day other stars will be so distant,
‘Twill be just like the start of all creation.
The blackness of the sky will be persistent,
We’ll believe we live in isolation

The darkness all around us will be total,
Save for our own lunar pantomime.
Tales of stars will just be anecdotal,
Lost among the memories of time.

Dad has retired from the buses

2008-07-31T07:54:00.000-07:00

Dad has retired from the buses
After 42 years at the wheel.
He says he don’t know what the fuss is
For you’re only as old as you feel.

When he started, his route was a short one,
From the Moon out to Io and back,
Though the journey was often a fraught one
With asteroids lying ‘cross his track.

And then he became interstellar
On the hyperspace bus to P.C.
‘Twas there that he met Barbarella,
Or “Mum” to my brothers and me.

He was struck by her radiant beauty
As she served her sweet pancakes and toast
And after his next tour of duty,
They were married on Triton’s Gold Coast.

Thirty years now of hyperspace jetting
In and out of the Great Neptoid Gate
Has meant that he’s only been getting
Old at a much slower rate.

I’ve made one short space hop to Priam,
‘Tis a sedent’ry life that I’ve had,
And it’s meant consequentially I am
About seven years older than Dad.

Breaking news

2008-07-31T06:51:00.000-07:00

Breaking news is coming out of NASA,
It’s brought the world of science to its knees.
It may be hard to think of something crasser,
But the moon is made entirely of green cheese.

Years of analysing lunar samples
Confirmed the dairy content at the core.
The breaking news now mercilessly tramples
Over all the theories heretofore.

Astronomers are said to be uneasy
About the content of celestial spheres.
A theory once considered to be cheesey
Has now usurped their thinking, it appears.

Astro-physicists are very wary
But can’t deny the data now produced.
Big Bang has been followed by Big Dairy,
The chickens, seemingly come home to roost.

A little bit like Roquefort, said a spokesman,
Drizzled with the seeds of pomegranates.
The news of the discovery should coax Man
To further exploration of the planets.

Accident or Design?

2008-07-31T06:48:00.000-07:00

At the anti-matter fact’ry, things were humming.
Another cargo load of waste was coming.
‘Twas landfill gathered from the Planet Zatta
To b4converted into anti-matter.

The factory was somewhat controversial
A Government decision, not commercial.
Each planet in the sector was consulted
And a blueprint for the factory resulted.

But though all said the factory was needed,
For quandules its construction was impeded.
For though most of the planets could absorb it,
No-one wanted it within their orbit.

At last, through tax incentives and some bribery
(Five per cent and a new galactic library)
Planet Gray officials were instructed
To make sure that the fact’ry was constructed.

At the cutting edge of anti-matter,
And despite the growing nationalistic chatter,
Landfill waste was clinically converted,
With very little energy exerted.

Historians can’t figure out for certain
Exactly what sparked off the final curtain.
We know the cargo ship from Planet Zatta
Crashed into a vat of anti-matter.

Did the pilot have a sudden seizure?
An onset of mechanical amnesia?
Or was the dreadful act a lot more sinister,
One which took a martyr to administer?

All that’s known is most of Sector Seven
Was blown to smithereens and went to heaven
In less time than it’s possible to say
“I told you” in the tongue of Planet Gray.

Eternal Flight

2008-07-31T06:44:00.000-07:00

The plane was about to begin its descent,
When the earth gave a pop, and then vanished.
The pilot looked round and his eyes quickly went
Onto the control that he brandished.

With muchos suspicion, he looked up and down,
As if something was trying to throw him,
But no runway, no airport, no village, no town
Appeared up above or below him.

He took down the speaker and said, “Please don’t panic,
But there’s something extremely weird.
Whether it’s heavenly, whether satanic,
Our dear old earth’s disappeared.”

The passengers let out a massive great cheer,
For many were due back in work.
They showed no confusion, or panic, or fear,
And none of the crew went berserk.

The pilot came sheepishly out of the cabin,
But nobody thought he was rash.
As he said, when a man in a hat started gabbin’,
There was no earth on which they could crash.

So they joyfully wheeled out the duty free trolley,
And drank to the health of the plane.
And they all got incredibly merry and jolly,
And they never were heard of again.

Pluto – The Psychological Ramifications

2008-07-31T06:41:00.000-07:00

Astronomy’s finest had gathered,
With faces as stony as granite,
And blithely declared
As a stunned press corps stared,
That Pluto was just a dwarf planet.

“The decision has not been reached lightly,
And most of the congress has voted.
The count should be trusted,
It’s all done and dusted,
And Pluto is henceforth demoted.

“It may have an elliptical orbit,
A spherical shape and large craters,
But it’s just far too small,
Lacking in wherewithal
To retain its old planet’ry status.”

Now I’m not really learnéd or clever,
No science-based qualifications,
But I wonder out loud
If this space-minded crowd
Has considered the ramifications?

If you go into work in the morning,
And you’re hauled in to speak the boss,
And he tells you that you’re
Back to sweeping the floor,
Would you not feel a little bit cross?

Now, multiply that by ten million,
And imagine how Pluto is feeling,
Depressed and deflated,
Un-app-re-ci-at-ed,
Convinced that there’s been double-dealing.

The students of planet psychology
Are very much learning the ropes.
There are no case-studies
By Freud or his buddies
To watch how an ex-planet copes.

We really should keep watch o’er Pluto,
To make sure it does nothing silly,
Like losing its gravity
Through wanton depravity
Or wandering off willy-nilly.

Who knows what a planet is thinking,
When its standing’s so cruelly reversed?
Can it live with the shame?
Might it take reckless aim,
And crash into Neptune headfirst?

Counselling should be considered
To counter the obvious shock,
And each IAU voter
Should be on the voter
To watch the poor lad round the clock.

Written on the occasion of Pluto'd demotion to a minor planet and published in Astronomy Ireland

I’ve Seen Uranus

2008-07-31T06:23:00.000-07:00

I’ve seen Uranus through a telescope,
It looked so round and white,
Yes, I’ve seen Uranus and what’s more, I hope,
I will see it again tonight.

June 2003

Billy’s Questions

2008-07-31T06:18:00.000-07:00

“Why can’t we have wings,” said Billy to God,
“The freedom to soar through the air?
It takes oh, so long when you’re walking along,
It takes ages to get anywhere.”

“ Why can’t we have screws,” said Billy to God,
“To open our chests when we please?
If we could look inside, it would be a great stride
In the fight against pain and disease.”

“Why can’t we have fur,” said Billy to God,
“It would help to protect us from cold.
Just think of the cost of the body heat lost
For the poor and the sick and the old.”

“Just think of the time,” said Billy to God,
“That we humans spend sleeping and dozing.
Think what we could do if we did not have to
Waste hours inert and reposing.”

“Why must we have teeth,” said Billy to God,
“That hurt us from cradle to grave?
Were they made of steel, how much better we’d feel
Just think of the toothaches we’d save.”

“Why don’t we have minds,” said Billy to God,
“To remember the things that we learn?
Not to have to go look up some paper or book
Would really do us a good turn.”

At length came a moan like a roaring cyclone,
And God gave his answer to Billy:-
“I’ve heard all your questions and clever suggestions.
Now, push off, and don’t be so silly.”

c.1998

Astral Microscope

2008-07-31T06:15:00.000-07:00

There they live in mild hysteria,
Petri dish full of bacteria.
Single cells and colonies
Spreading sickness and disease,
Defying all their natural forces,
Devouring all their world’s resources,
Like a cancer slowly creeping
Through the body while it’s sleeping.
Amoeba-like they reproduce,
Replace the old cells of no use.
Obviously they’re far too small
To have a living soul at all.

But as they spread their poison slowly
Over everything that’s holy,
We keep the sample locked away
At the centre of the Milky Way.
Some say they ought to be destroyed,
Vaporised throughout the void.
But the government has shown defiance,
Preserved them in the name of science.
Seemingly it has no fear
They might escape their atmosphere
I wonder, would it give them hope
To know they’re under a microscope?

c 1999

Dublin Street Trader 2020

2008-07-31T06:12:00.000-07:00

“Electricity! Electricity!
Get your lovely ‘Lectricity!
A pound a bag,
Two pound for three!
Guaranteed by the E.S.B.
Two hundred and forty
Volts D.C.!
Recommended by the EEC!
As sure as me name’s Felicity,
‘Tis the very best
‘Lectricity!”

November 2002

U.F.O.

2008-07-31T06:09:00.000-07:00

They travelled long through hyperspace
From a galaxy far distant,
Intelligence, combined with grace,
Bacteria resistant.

They’d mastered well the time-warp drive
With nuclear propulsion,
And viewed our will to stay alive
With uncontrolled revulsion.

It took them eons just to reach us,
Through the space-time axis,
Surely they would stop and teach us
Why we should pay taxes.

Surely they could teach us all
The riddles of existence?
How to see around a wall?
How to conquer distance?

But no, they came and went one night,
Most unspectacu-larly,
Leaving, for mankind’s delight,
Some circles in our barley.

August 2003

Your Roving Reporter

2008-07-31T06:02:00.000-07:00

“I’m in a town called Dublin in the Northern Hemisphere,
Observing the religion of the people living here.
Their secular beliefs appear uncivilised and tribal,
I think that I can say that without any fear of libel.

Once a week, their God descends from heaven, without warning,
His grotesque machinations give the people ample warning.
And, when they hear him roaring, people keep their kids indoors,
Doubtless fearing that they might get snapped up in His jaws.

In order to appease him, every house must pay a price,
And offer up an animal in gruesome sacrifice,
The animal is kept out in the yard or in the shed,
And scraps of food and household waste are all that it is fed.

It’s commonly referred to as the Jumbo Refuse Sack.
The poor dumb creature has a skin that’s smooth and shiny black,
Its molecular metabolism’s similar to plastic,
But the speed it grows within a week is really quite fantastic.

And, when the Sack is bloated so it can’t move from the spot,
Its ears are taken savagely and tied into a knot,
And then its left outside the door, or maybe at the gate,
So full and fat it can’t escape its grim, predestined fate.

And then the God comes snarling with His faithful old and thin men,
Expressionless executioners, colloquially called Bin Men,
The God’s cruel mouth is in its arse, He opens it up wide,
And the poor defenceless animals are flung with force inside.

What thoughts must flicker through the Sack’s pathetic, tiny mind,
Awaiting the mad deity-with-terrible-behind?
How must it feel to watch his fellow creatures lightly thrown
Into the gaping, crunching mouth, abandoned and alone?

These Dubliners should play no part upon their planet’s stage!
To think there’s still such barbarism in this day and age.
Perhaps its something in the genes, passed on to them at birth –
This is R-J-6-11, Astral TV, Planet Earth.”

Written August 2002