Member 1206
2 entries

Immortal since Dec 22, 2007
Uplinks: 0, Generation 2
I write introspective and speculative verse. Science fiction needs its poets too.
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    From meika
    I No Longer Write for...
    Now playing SpaceCollective
    Where forward thinking terrestrials share ideas and information about the state of the species, their planet and the universe, living the lives of science fiction. Introduction
    Featuring Powers of Ten by Charles and Ray Eames, based on an idea by Kees Boeke.
    Do not say “red”.
    Avoid mention of Ares.
    In fact, don’t wax classical
    at all.
    Keep it simple.
    Don’t drink the water.
    There isn’t any.
    Say there is.
    Exaggerate the prospects
    for terraforming.
    Tell us the weather is nice.
    Or, that it will be.
    Wish we were there.
    Tell us so.
    Invent a new word
    for red.
    Write it.
    Make a circle.
    Better yet
    construct a sphere.
    Create a word for gravity
    and place it at the center.
    Empty the sky of stars.
    Give us a proper beginning.
    Write: "I’ve reached the summit
    of Olympus Mons,”
    and, “from this sacred height,
    for kilometers in all directions,
    I can see no God
    who deals in war.”

    Published in Mimesis 1 (2007)
    Sat, Mar 29, 2008  Permanent link

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    I’d like to write you a message
    in hundred-foot high flaming letters.
    It would tell you
    you no longer needed glasses.
    A passing spacecraft might mistake
    my words for a signal
    that the earth was running out of air
    and, though we are very sorry,
    there is no safe place for them to land.

    If the words were bright enough
    they may carry to the edges of the nearest
    star, and there split in two.
    Observers on Alpha Centauri
    interpret it as a dialogue
    on the subtle machinations of string theory.
    In translation it becomes a bestseller
    on Dagobah 7, and is summarily
    taken out of print.

    When atmospheric lensing distorts my message
    you may scrye the meaning
    from the warmth of the words
    as each letter spreads itself beyond its boundaries
    and becomes a wall.

    And regardless of what Chinese textbooks tell us
    we can see no walls from space.
    So, maybe no one knows the words
    I write you—maybe no one is looking.
    And if they were they would see only a rope
    twisting up through clouds—as thin
    as silk,
    but strong enough to climb.

    Sat, Mar 29, 2008  Permanent link

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