Two Poems: Complaint and Praise

SLAM Prompt: Choose your own topic/subject matter, and write 2 poems about it---one in praise and one in complaint (or blame). Free or formal verse, as you wish! Serious or comic, or seriocomic...as you wish! Topic is absolutely open!!

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Why Don’t They Perceive?

(Complaint about people not understanding

the wonders of astronomy)

I have heard there are those too afraid to look up.
(The black of eternity is frightening, I guess.)
They scurry about, their eyes as if spellbound
on the rust-brown dirt and the color of toenails.

They don’t seem to notice that stars are like sparklers.
Could it be they’re too busy to hear the sky’s song?
But, then, heaven’s sirens always chant loudly;
so, maybe, some Terrans are just stellar deaf.

Monthly the moon pushes her rounded, pale face
into our lives, sweetly asking for visits.
But some do not recognize her whispery pleas,
nor notice she’s nude, full of lunar desire.

Saturn bedecks himself in ice-colored rings,
He whirls strings of moons like maypole dancers.
Yet, there are those whose eyes are splendor barren;
they’ve never once peered through a telescope lens.

The sky boasts streaks of comets zooming,
whizzing so close, they yell, “Come soar with me.”
My ears hear their song, and I strive to follow,
but my feet cling to rock, and my arms refuse flight.

I’ve heard meteorites bring invitations,
filled with clues to countless complex equations.
I hunt them to read the enigmas they offer,
but they’re too quickly tested, labeled and stored.

Very few folks seem aware of these space tunes.
They don’t seem to hear the faint choir of voices.
Could it be that Sky Song is meant for but few?
Or is it simply most people are too afraid to look up?

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The Path of Our Solar System

(Praise for the greatness of the natural world of space --

as revealed to us through the science of astronomy)

The wings of our planets cannot be seen,
though they flutter in the cool of endless night.

Arched like eyebrows -- or like fragile whispers,
their wings glide our planets like fish in dark water.

Some globes ride like they're huge buoys in space,
by floating and bobbing on the currents of light.

Others, those closer to the queen of all heat,
bask like horned lizards, and undulate zeal.

Though the wings of our planets cannot be seen,
they beat to the sound of the cosmos' aria.

Our oceans hear it, and our hearts know the tune,
for the harmony adjusts the rhythm of our blood.

Yet, still, we envision the sky as our kingdom,
casting names upon each wonder we see.

We strut along with our slow-measured tread,
acting cocky and vain 'cause we know how to walk.

We think we’re in charge, that we are the powerful,
though we’re less than a speck on the eye of our sun.

The planets all laugh ‘cause they think we’re so cute,
and they let us believe we’ve mastered the heavens

as we fly through the air like trapeze dwellers,
unaware of our perch in the swing on the road,

while the wings of our planets, which cannot be seen,
travel ‘cross oceans on their path through the stars.

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