SPACE

THE UNIVERSE IS MY PARISH : FUEL STOP

ROCKING HORSE : THE STARPICKERS : MOON : TWINKLE, TWINKLE

COSMONAUT, CONSUMMATE 

THE UNIVERSE IS MY PARISH

Hello? Yes?
I'm sorry he's not at home
He's visiting.
How long will he be?
Quite some time I'm afraid.
Where?
He's gone to Callisto and Io
And out beyond Pluto
To Procyon and Altair
Across the wastes of space
To where Deneb outshines the sun.
He'll return via Regulus,
Aldebaran and Arturus.
Four weeks on Neptune-
He'll be back quite soon
After a stop on the moon.
He'll be home before
You've made this call,
Last month.
Ring again yesterday.
Hello, who's that?

FUEL STOP

"Starship to fuel station nine
Our fuel is low...
Locking our course in..."
The muffled whine
Of reversed thrust and
The starship floats
Into docking bay five.
Red chrome-clean.
Black tubes
Coil with fuel.
A tinned voice echoes,
"Only cash and cheques..."
The starship captain fumbles
Through silver pockets
And a book of plastic cards.
Finally, ancient notes.
The starship will not be delayed
On its cosmic voyage.
Refuelled, it slides into
The inter galactic black.
Ahead, the red sun of
Cheadle traffic lights.

ROCKING HORSE

To trip across the universe
On a rocking horse
Is just not done, I mean,
The very idea is preposterous,
Impossible, idiotic.
Yet my three year old has done it.
No headlines for her
Or television interviews
Or specialist opinions.
No band to welcome her splash-down,
Or whatever horses do.
She's crossed a million galaxies,
Seen supernova by the score,
Followed comet trails
To a thousand suns
And counted countless planets.
For who needs mission control,
Modules and backup-systems,
When you've got a plastic helmet,
A rocking-horse and-
And a mind that refuses
To be tied to convention,
Confined by correctness
Or complicated by trivia.
Next time you go,
Take me with you.

THE STARPICKERS

Across the fields
You can see them.
Just a few,
One or two,
Who stretch a pointing finger
To simply linger
Over some distant star.
Too far By far,
To see.
For these, just a few,
One or two,
Are the starpickers.
Why not let them
Pick a star for you? 

photograph © Bryce Cooke

Space : Page Two 

MOON : TWINKLE, TWINKLE : COSMONAUT, CONSUMMATE 

All poems and photographs [unless otherwise acknowledged] 
 © Bryce Cooke  All rights reserved

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