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Sea of Crises

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No garden then that concrete year grey as Mare Crisum, sun dappled island of cement - stars my destination moon in the gutter. James Burke commentates As Eagle leaves the safety of a  kitchen orbit. Three days circle the yard silver plastic glinting, module making unexpected course corrections near Mother of all asteroids. Sheets battening in solar wind, tracking the washing line, over a landing site secured. Countdown to burn, finger and  thumb executing last minute correction as Armstrong flew dead stick with computer off. Hundred feet –  closing fast like cheese. Craters and dust. Easy now Almost Brace And The Eagle Has Landed Tranquility Base here. Magnificent desolation. Roll back on warm concrete Admiring the achievement tiny plastic LEM on harsh lunar surface Prepare for EVA as a shadow falls - One Giant Step as the final shirt is pegged out like a conquering flag, crushing m...
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Still - The remembrance of lost time

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I was recently reminded of the creation of my final piece for my university dissertation. As it was a Creative Writing Masters Degree, I had opted to write a portfolio of 30 poems, but after many weeks of trial and error, I couldn't decide where to go with the project.  So, in order to get away from the pressure of not writing, I went  to visit a good car boot at York Racecourse, its one of the best venues I have ever seen, with a great mix of genuine sellers and antique dealers.  After picking up a few diecasts, a couple of old camera lenses and the odd book, I was wrapping up my perusal when I came upon a stall which was obviously from a house clearance. There was the usual array of boxes of ornaments, books, kitchen equipment and old shoes - but on the floor in a plastic washing basket were several boxes of old photographic camera slides. Initially, I thought the boxes would be useful, but on closer inspection, I found they were glass positives, hand fini...
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Astrobleme

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Considering all, I wandered alone. As a boreal evening bloomed above,  I paused on frost crisp turf,  Breezes draining sound into the valley to fold into the treeline below through the wintered air. Panoplies of gems swarming above revealed a paredolian sight in a remote web of stars. Pulsing, glowing lightly , a star more vigorous than its fellows,                                                                  writhing against a ribbon of gas.  I apprehended a note Infrasonic, descending the scales to tickle my ear, keening softly . Tremulous with fear, fading ululations concerted with the pulsar parsecs distant, a grieving wail of ending. Dark saurians had ambled across sweating jungles here as its star stuff had evaporated. Millennia hence, after crossing vacuous ...
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