August 23, 2012

poem 280 of a poem a day for 2012






inside the good ship lament

the bent lent wings
rusted hinges and all
are sent back
to the propulsion factories
to fix the artificial gravity enhancers
and lay carbon ash in the gardens
under the biosphere glass
in the small room
we’ve grown to accept
is where life has now become
just a journey
for producing oxygen
for the crew and lucky few
like me who managed to get on board

somewhere Martin Landau
is laughing on the Moon
hearing our follies
in the long elliptical capture frequencies
that constitute news in interstellar space

spaceship Earth has been blown up
with the Republicans blaming women
and skin color for driving social issue elections
and Democrats blaming Ronald Reagan
all with their last breaths taken
as most of the last politicians took
inordinately large payoffs to stay home
and root sew normalcy
while the shithouse mechanics of unchecked greed
bulged at the seams of what we had called
modern industrial society

it began at the poles
where extraction of elements
and black gold fueled visions
of farther and faster productivity
with cheaper bottom lines
and the easily sold hooks lines
and sinkers that made for great variety TV
these poles began to buckle inwards
and the Earth bellowed out a cry
that is said to still be heard
searching for its own Mother
in the cold recesses of the Universe

this junket of homemade craft
that made it off before the little big bang
hurtles through space with peeling paint
and little hopes hand cupped and kept alive

at the end
it is said the Earth
looked like an orange de-segmenting
I chose not to look
as I had always thought
this day would come
and I did not want to believe
my chicken little philosophy
of an innate self reflection 
beyond the words
that poets use was true

in these rag tag floating cities
there is enough sustainability
for a handful of Adams and Eves
to populate another home
should we make it that far
though I suspect any planet
worth its weight in soul
will put out the No Vacancy sign
as soon as they see us coming
because all we ever seem
to want to do
when on ships in space or on the seas
is come ashore and plant flags
and begin an unquenchable thirst
for more of what we can’t make last

EJR ©

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