Ideas, Insights,& Intuitions

These are the last of my older poems that I am going to share:

Dawn Meditation

In these early moments

of the day before me spread,

as the life-giving sun burns its way

through the shrouds of night, silently rending them,

its brilliant warmth

speaks to my heart a poem of hope.

I awake with a singing soul,

victorious.

And though the song be lost

in the blatant discord

of everyday strife,

these moments now are mine

to walk in my Father’s house.

–KLM1963

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Spring

Spring,like love,

is more cherished

with age.

Each year I greet the harbingers,

marvel at the blind courage

of Nature newly reborn,

delight in the incredibly sweet scent

of orange blossoms,

and each year

it is the more poignant

for having been known before.

A vitality

straining at Winter’s lethargy,

the tide of Spring

is the strongest force in nature,

but deceptively gentle,

like a woman in love.

–KLM1968?

Azure paints the Autumn sky;

Crisp and cool, a sudden breeze

Whisks away bright, tattered garments

Outworn by the Summer day.

Like unclothed arms, each withered branch

Waves bony hands at Winter’s tease.

The torrid siren dressed in green,

Weary of sport, has gone her way

To sleep.

–KLM1954

ARECIBO

When this radio telescope was built at Arecibo, Puerto Rico, it was the largest and most sensitive of its kind. It still is. Operated by Cornell University, it was built to scan the heavens degree by degree for any radio signal with a pattern too deliberate to be random noise, and to transmit its own message in reply. One such pattern was thought to be prime numbers, the same in any language. Visit this public site: http://naic.edu/public/the_telescope.htm for more information.

This poem is about a morning when it begins to happen.

1.

Mankind’s ear (x10³º), cocked to the universe,

Listening, hoping, with awesome mechanical patience.

Man’s voice (x10²º): coded light shoots silent and straight

From its throbbing dynamic throat.

A conversation in silence, begun and begun again.

2.

A 3-cornered hat for waving

At anyone who might be watching

Our parade.

3.

Someone drops a pebble down a bottomless shaft

And strains to hear a splash, a clink,

Any sign of contact—-any at all.

He listens for a very long time.

4.

One imagines

A great arachnoid robot spinning this strange web

For capturing an exotic meal

Of extraterrestrial fireflies.

Having spun, she waits,

One exquisitely sensitive phalange poised at the rim

Awaiting the tremor that betrays

An ensnared feast.

5.

And one day as we nod over coffee, or dream

Of sailing on a summer morning,

The quiet revolution begins;

“1 …2…3…5…7…11…”

Faintly, insistently,

Yet boldly underlined,

Comes the autograph

Of a distant mind:

“1…2…3…5…7…11…13…17…19…23…29…31…”

Men and women may eventually establish a base on Earth’s moon, Luna, where they can live and work for months (or even years.) They will have to build an airtight dome and have some way to maintain an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. Outside the dome, they will have to wear EVA suits with air tanks, and probably use vehicles with tracks on some of the wheels to climb the uneven terrain. Life will depend on the air dome, literally. Its failure will mean death, within minutes if a suit or tank is not near; within hours even if they are. (A second or emergency dome will be necessary for survival in such a case until a rescue mission can arrive.)

This poem is my attempt to imagine being a member of such a team, living and working on Luna.

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The View from the Moon

There shines Earth. It’s full tonight.

And I am full of grief for her, my home.

Earth at Springtime, the swelling of life from life:

From generation to generation the struggle

To be–to know–to achieve–to master–to be gods.

We came to the moon on an Olympian thunderbolt,

Pressure-sealed in a can of air and recycling machines.

We built the air dome sealed in plastic bags,

With our lives strapped to our backs.

Tonight as my half-track crawls back to the dome,

My brain benumbed in the alien sterility all around me,

I behold the black sky in which the rainbow cannot arch,

In which no thunderstorm crackling with the spark of creation

Can fill the vacuum of life unlived, reality unrealized,

And the pain descends like a shroud over my being.

Here in this world of stark relief,

There is no perhaps, no median, no mercy.

There is life or death, death or life:

Life is the air dome, death is its failure.

The awful absoluteness takes and takes of me,

Until I seem merely an hypothesis.

Perhaps, after all, man is not fitted

For challenging the stars,

Whose cold points of light grip their unseen worlds

In the uncaring eternity of space.

But then I close my eyes and see a remembered Earth,

Where my mind reached out to touch the galaxies.

Some of us have taken that giant step

On the path to the stars.

Yes, we are real, the vanguard of men and women

Who expand humanity’s concept of reality.

We shall go on because we must.

And more will follow.

I open my eyes, behold the full, shining sphere of Earth,

And I straighten my back, sucking deeply from my air tank.

I have won my fight with pain.

–KLM1982

 Far-fetched? Perhaps….

The Missionary

A man climbed into a rocket ship

And left the earth on an eight-month trip.

On the planet Mars he then did land

With a Holy Bible in his hand.

He said to the Martians in their holes,

“I’m called by God to save your souls.

Jesus died for you and me,

So we can live eternally.

“The Lord who made your world will come.

And take you to your heavenly home.

The Devil He will lock in Hell,

Where unbelievers all will dwell.

“Come, kneel down and confess your sin!

God’s Word will show you what you’ve been.

His love will fill your souls with peace,

His blessings on you will not cease!”

A Martian came and touched his sleeve.

He said, “Messiah, we believe!

Our Holy Scriptures told of Thee.

O, blest to see Thy face are we!”

The missionary sent a prayer on high,

He rent the thin air with his cry,

“Halleluja! Praise God, they hear!”

Then the Martians all did disappear.

But soon a multitude returned,

And a frightful truth the preacher learned:

“We’re all who survive in the caverns deep,

Your one hundred forty-four thousand sheep.

“Take us, Lord, to Paradise,

Where we may live beneath blue skies

In the Land where milk and honey run:

The third planet from the sun!”

–KLM1981

Bye, baby Moon-child,

Daddy’s coming soon, child.

He’s bringing plants to make our air,

And Venus flowers for your hair.

——————————————————

Brightly burning distant star,

I know exactly what you are.

If I make a wish on you,

What is there to bring it true?

And so I look at you and smile,

You traveling atomic pile.

——————————————————-

Jack took Jill to the desalting plant

For a glass of ocean water.

Jill drank it down,

Then made a frown,

And took to gin thereafter.

——————————————————-

“Mary, child extraordinary,

How does your garden grow?”

“By cellular mitosis,

As anyone should know.”

——————————————————–

Miss Nancy MacGruder,

Taught by computer,

Was such a precocious tot:

When a curious spider

Sat down beside her,

She dissected it on the spot.

——————————————————–

Hello, little satellite,

Up above me every night.

You teach me words and help me do

My math and science lessons, too.

You’re bright and cheerful every day–

May your orbit never decay!

Old MacDonald had a farm, on the TVA.

And on this farm he had a lien, by the FHA.

With a mortgage here and a judgment there,

Here a debt, there a debt,

Everywhere a debt, yet,

Old MacDonald lost his farm, and went on OAA.

—————————————————–

There was a young woman who lived in a shack.

She had so many children, ‘cause she couldn’t keep track.

Now she takes the pill,

The state pays the bill,

And a shiny new Cadillac’s parked in the back.

–KLM1982

When Dr. Carl Sagan first became a celebrity and TV personality, I read every book of his that I could find, beginning with “The Dragons of Eden.” I watched the “Cosmos” series on PBS, and I even joined The Planetary Society. I was already a science fiction fan, but this was real! I dreamed of attending some event where he was speaking, and getting to meet him. But the best I could manage was receiving a black & white photo with his name typewritten on the back from Shirley, his executive secretary. It is the cover picture from Success magazine where he is posed looking through a large telescope.

During that time I was inspired to write a group of poems about space–-trying to get there, trying to communicate with extraterrestrials, and what it might be like to live in a future where we had begun to do that. Some of the poems were serious and some were clearly whimsical. But they all stretched my imagination. Here are a couple of the shorter poems, written about 1980:

TO COMET HALLEY

Inexorably you follow your course,
Propelled by the Laws of the God-Cosmos
Onto the screen of man’s consciousness.
First a bright point in the Giant Eye,
Soon you burst on our sight–
A blazing torch
Kindled by the passion of star-fire
And trailing glory in your wake.
Earthbound, I watch you pass
And long to go with you.
-KLM

(Does anyone think I could have been secretly writing about something or someone else? Actually I was, at the time.)

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PSALM 2000

Night Wind, carry my song out to the stars.
Many-throated Wind, also sing of my crowded loneliness.
Wrest from this prison of ignorance a soul that languishes.
Mourner of memories lost beyond the Cusp, hear me:
I, Mankind, also have no resting place.
-KLM

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(See also “Space Age Nursery Rhymes”)

Fragments

Dew drops sparkle on
the winter mesquites,
their reluctant leaves impaled
on downthrust branches….
….far down the forestway
the trees were flashing
heliographs in the morning sun.

————————————————————–

[Winter] arrived, heralded by a charging blue wind.
All night the battle raged
and in the morning,
eyes that last saw friendly sunshine
beheld a frozen package of numbed nature;
ears that last heard the songs of birds
heard now the stiffened creaking of arthritic trees.

————————————————————–

The sun bursts out of another world
and advances, raw, primal,
like half-cooked egg….

————————————————————–

His coming home
seems to bind together
all the loose ends of the day
into a package
that need not be reopened
until tomorrow.

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Philosophy

PATIENCE

If you see life as eternal possibility,
If you can see your days as continual opportunity,
If you can see your life as the answer
To the ultimate question,
Then you can dream the ultimate dream.

If your dream is worth the cost,
If you will earn your right to claim it,
If you refuse to accept disaster as normal,

Then you can wait, serene, undoubting,

For as long as it takes. 

(That one is from my Ayn Rand period.)

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UNTITLED

The rain falls upon the mountain
As well as on the grain field below.
With the passage of time, even the mountain
Crumbles into soil
Which brings forth fruit.

Let me, then, show kindness
Even to those whose hearts are hardened.
How much sooner than a mountain
Might a heart soften
And bring forth love!
-KLM 79

I started writing poetry as soon as I learned to write. Most of it was pretty sappy, verbose, and even silly, but it was noticed by my teachers and encouraged. Of the poems I wrote before I was 40, only a few have been preserved, because I thought I had made contact with the essence of an idea, and had been able to express it on paper. Perhaps these will have meaning for you as well. These three were written between my 16^th and 22^nd year.

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TWO ROSES (1955)

Two roses, blood red,

Soft as a baby’s eyelid–

I found them late

In a grey November twilight.

I had struck a swift pace,

Bundled against the cold,

But there I stopped, transfixed.

Two roses,

Perhaps the latest to bloom:

Braver than the young Spring blooms,

Of subtler, more mature perfume, and each alone

In a grey November twilight,

On opposite sides of the bush.

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METAMORPHOSIS (1955)

Trees writhing out of their old clothes,

stripped down to leotards

for their passive ballet

of Winter.

Straightway,

they stalk through the drifts, as in a nightmare,

bearing their parcels of mistletoe to no one in particular,

going nowhere,

Finally they are still,

in a trance-like sleep of desperation,

until the winds turn warm,

and Nature’s great heart gently pulses

life

through all her veins.

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UNTITLED (1960)

It has happened.

Out of the vast cosmic stream of possibilities,

this one event has been borne along

to the moment of becoming.

It has been reality in potential

since it began to form among the myriad of thoughts.

Called into being by our desire,

it was shaped by every small act and omission.

By our love and our need

we brought it through, and now it has happened,

and a thousand doubts could not prevail

against its coming.

__________________________________

More to come……………

This pet peeve deserves a separate post! How hard is it to say “NOO-klee-er?” It’s not hard at all. In fact, it is easy. It does not require any tongue-twisting or difficult shaping of the mouth. And yet, it is estimated by the Merriam-Webster Dictionary site editors that as many as 50% of the American population pronounces the word “nuclear” as “NOO-kyuh-ler.” Among these are educated people who should know better, such as scientists and politicians.

We all know that President George Bush is the most famous perpetrator of this mispronunciation. He has probably said “NOO-kyuh-ler” for such a long time that it sounds right to him. Do Mr. Bush and these other educated people also say “NOO-kyuh-less” when pronouncing “nucleus?” Most of them probably do. The worst thing about this error is that it is accepted by those who commit it as being unimportant. But they should realize that saying “NOO-kyuh-less” and “NOO-kyuh-ler” gives the impression that they are illiterate. Their credibility as intelligent, educated, and self-respecting people is damaged when they do nothing to correct the mistake.

I must admit that if I pronounce the first syllable of “nuclear” as “NEW” (rhyming with “few”), it does take an effort to follow it by “klee-er” and it is tempting to fall into the easier way and say “NEW-kyuh-ler.” But I don’t hear people using this “NEW” sound when they say the word incorrectly.

So there is no good excuse for saying “NOO-kyuh-ler” when it is just as easy to say “NOO-klee-er.” If you have been making this mistake, now is the time to correct it. Talk this way:

“NOO-klee-er…….NOO-klee-er…….NOO-klee-er……”

1. The ubiquitous use of “they” or “their” referring to a singular antecedent*. This has become the standard way to avoid the formerly ubiquitous (and clumsy) use of “he or she” and “his or her”, in order to be politically correct. For centuries before Women’s Liberation it was considered correct to let the male pronoun represent a member of a group of mixed or unspecified gender, or a single person of unspecified gender.

*Singular antecendents: each (person), everyone, anyone, one, no one, someone, and strangely enough, “each and every (person).”

Examples:

     Incorrect: “Everyone should bring their own lunch.”

     Acceptable: “Everyone should bring his or her own lunch.”

     Correct: “Everyone should bring his own lunch.”

All of these now sound awkward. There are, of course, work-arounds.

Examples:

     “Bring your own lunch.”
     “Everyone should bring a lunch.”
     “Those attending  should bring their own  lunches.”
     “Lunch will not be provided.”

Personally, I prefer using a gender-neutral pronoun, such as “e” and “ez.”

Example:

     “E should bring ez own lunch.”

I really don’t think this will catch on, however.

2. The use of the apostrophe before the terminal S in plurals.
Examples:

     “Car’s”, “piano’s”, or even “toe’s” (These are incorrect, even if meant as the possessive form, such as “the car’s windshield” or “the piano’s keys.” An object cannot be said to possess anything.)

     “Dog’s” (This is correct only in the possessive form, such as “the dog’s ear.”)

     “It’s” (This is the worst and most prevalent misuse of the apostrophe. It is only correct when used as a contraction for “it is.” Unlike other possessives, this gender-neutral pronoun forms a possessive only when no apostrophe is used, probably to distinguish it from the contraction.)

Now, I’ll bet that anyone who reads this will begin to notice how many apostrophes are applied incorrectly, even in professionally painted signs, and will try to correct ez own errors.