LPiA-22 Nov. 23
Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 23

Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November. 

Topic : Write a poem inspired by space travel.
Form : Any
Line requirements: 8 or more 
Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 

The School of Space Flight

It was windy last Friday
and that was a good thing,
because we in the fifth
had remembered our string.

After classes let out
near the stop for the bus,
the teachers came running
when they heard a great fuss.

All the little ones screamed
as they ran with their packs,
that puffed up and billowed
like space ships on their backs.

Then us guys in the fifth
called the “outside invaders”,
hooked up all of our strings
and flew some first graders.
Last Train to Clarke’s Burg

We run the risk of turning
interplanetary exploration
flat and colorless because
all its visions can be
counterfeited easily
by far grander special effex
in an Imax.  Which is to say
Arthur C. Clarke was right–
Man cannot live in the cradle
forever.  He can, however
die there of infantile
gurgling self-fascination.
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
From the hand to the mouth
Chewed and dissolved
Through the digestive tracts
Down the water, to the soil
Up through the shoots and leaves
Processing plants to grocery stores
My wife's kitchen, chopped and stewed
To the spoon, my hand, and my mouth
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
                                                                            i am lost somewhere between

Cable cars like dew drops
inching along silver sinews.

Martians and earthlings wave
as they cross to each other's
home worlds.

A single strand stretches out to Pluto
where my dog waits on the porch,
for me to come back from work.
"Whenever is a really long never"

In their hubris, the rich among us think
the kind of traveler they dream of becoming
is something new to history:
in fact, it's to be a refugee.

Through the vastness of space, past stars
newly born, burning brightly,
dying even brighter, or long dead,
we already fly: why seek to loose

ourselves from gravity's tether
and call some other world our mother,
some other star our father,
if not for fear of rebuke?

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