with an interval separating two points,
. .,
set,
within an era,
reckoned in hours and minutes,
with some legroom for years and days,
representing intervals of moment or season,
or a period necessary or available,
at one's disposal or fated at death or birth.
With pattern, time and meter they set to.
Meteorologists, geophysicists and astronomers were employed
and housed in federation style cottages with sundial styles above the doorways.
The ground was measured, and mapped,
length, angle, elevation, area, and volume,
horizontal and vertical,
control surveys marching in double time,
the seabed profile off the coast,
significant geologically features noted,
the hour at which a pub closes.
Eventually there was an edifice of substance,
built in the craters,
rising from its floor,
seen from across the stone flats that sweep out and all around.
On summits there,
looking back across sabulous dunes, in castles hewn from rock,
within a changing geometry of grass mounds,
run through with golden wheat fields, barely cut,
to an expanse of empty golf courses,
with occasional menhirs,
it was suggested that they could fly it.
Forecasts were made,
galvanics of destinations, thrust to weight ratios,
dihedral schematics.
From an all too ready to fly earth,
skies were scoped and a democracy of hard drives installed,
ramparts built,
habitats considered,
haunts and havens.
Heading indicators up, belts fastened, animals fed,
lift-off rumbled crusted sediments to slide.
Reciprocal engines fired to spore
and aloft, aloft they were for radiant storms and gentle air to stir.
Airborne, they cruised with ready fuel,
craters from early marks well past,
firmament encircling.
Below, the earth,
transfixed by her unexpected satellite,
sent ellipsoid sights to mind before fading in disparate fog to sea.
Scale height spray now caught them,
and in its tow they saw their sheer ascension keel.
Whether island or errant land askew,
this ocean had no thought.
It would draw them to her,
and have them in its waves before too long.
As they drifted down, and calculated fall,
it was considered,
all that they had done.
They were pleased.
They had built it and even made it fly,
and now they wondered,
could they make it float?
M. Plumber
3 comments:
Congratulations Savendi on half a century of posts.
Great work Savendi!
50 posts eh. A fine effort I thinks.
Love you guys,
xx
DC
~ - - - ~
50th Post Celebratory On The Spot Pome:
Hung,
I was in a taxi one night,
The driver was from the provinces,
He was new to Hanoi,
New to driving,
He was appalled at my being overcharged for a ceremonial drum.
He reversed back up the road,
I tried to soothe his rage,
His mirrors were all askew,
I held him by the arm,
Told him it was fair,
Money to the people.
He shook his head dismayed,
Drove me on my way,
Erratic like a child displeased with some outcome,
Swerved across an intersection,
Skimmed the back of a truck and looking back he failed to notice a cyclist in the dark.
I shouted he should Whoa!
We screeched and swung,
Missed the cyclist by an inch,
He prayed hands together,
I said thank-you brother (com-on an)
Denessentialist
Beautiful Post Mad Plumber.
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