When humanity at last branches out beyond this terrestrial ball,

finding rest in the worlds around other suns, having grown too numerous or consumed all resources, or both,

will we find planets already bearing life?

Will we find sport in creatures too fascinated by us to fear us?

Will the modern frontiersmen, space pioneers and pilgrims shout with unbridled joy, making bloodsport of bringing down

avian monstrosities, large and light as zeppelins, called Avis cetacea by well-meaning, too-little-too-late zoologists,

remembered by the first settlers as Sky Whales for their haunting, thunderous songs?

These folks will tell their grandchildren wonderous tales of the hundreds-strong, thousands-strong flocks, making day to night,

as men with laser rifles strove to blow holes in the silk-feathered, singing clouds, until the plains of azure grasses turned a purplish scarlet

(“We all bleed red, in this world, too,” the grandpap says sagely)

and were draped with wind rippled bodies too big to do much with but stare at in wonder.


The Lightness of Being

And the light flooded my eyes,
driving straight through my soul,
lighting it-a miniature sun-
until my whole being pulsed.
The darkness flushed out,
unquenchable light leaving
no room for shadows. After years
feeling my way along life,
swimming through moonless
night like a sightless fish, unable
even to dream of the bright world
beyond this stifling cave, I
drink the light with eyes,
and with heart, and wait, hungry,
for the first flash to fade, resolving
into the wonder of things I have never seen.

This was the result of the poetry writing prompt from Poets & Writers blog. Here’s a link.