Friday, April 21, 2017

The Pale Blue Dot

The Pale Blue Dot

What indeed is poetry?
I really wish I knew,
Although I spout again in verse
Which often seems to veer from terse.

And Riaz earlier was wise
In saying there's a difference--
For I can persevere in meters
Or echo rhymes, as poetry peters.

And as for science, what is it?
Our Trump would say, "A lot of s**t!"
Unless it adds in cash for him,
Who grabs at p******s at his whim.

And we might say, "What's wrong with money,
Or sipping on a bit of honey?"
But others then might counter, "Naught!
But yet there's more than can be bought."

What cash can come from Andromeda,
What pleasure from a comet's tail?
And yet we might be more bereft,
If Carl were mute before he left.

For though he spoke in measured prose,
It's poetry that Sagan wove.
As Saumen too has said, it's wonder
That gives, to poets’ words, their thunder.
2017 April 21, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York

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