Sagan grins from a Pale Blue Dot
As LCROSS finds water in Cabeus.
Is Su Shih's bright moon finally told --
Echoed by Dickinson's moon of gold?
Did Armstrong sit in contemplation
O'er cheesy man-in-the-moon inspiration
By Yeats, Coleridge, Thomas (Dylan) and Shelley;
Li Po, Longfellow, Whitman and Lindsay?
Under Moore's young moon of May we're planting
Bamboo groves in moonbeams slanting.
Moonrise to moonset, across dead rivers --
Elvis and Emily share moon-rock shivers.
To Sandburg's moon of harvest silver,
Wells used Cavorite (but just a sliver).
Now, listen as the Selonites motion --
Whispering of Earth and its teeming blue ocean.
While I, wild moon-child, begin to spool
By the light of Merritt's Lovecraftian Pool:
"Moon-water shall be the death of me
This year...."
Copyright © 2009 Tom Arnone
(Second and final revision.)
Nothing supersedes health maintenance;
Thus, the evolution of instinctive care --
Save for man and his brainy protuberance.
Which clouds the r-complex beneficence
With infinite, self-centered changes; meanwhile,
Nothing supersedes health maintenance.
As dino-birds navigate with healthy reliance,
And sickness is fought without aid or protest --
Save for man and his brainy protuberance.
Detached from colonies of microbial sentience
Oblivious as we consume and covet; feeling,
Nothing supersedes health maintenance.
Where six-legged ancients toil with exuberance,
Even cub-killing male lions cannot compete --
Save for man and his brainy protuberance.
While parasites exist in horrific preponderance,
Why mimic their cold distinctiveness; knowing,
Nothing supersedes health maintenance --
Save for man and his brainy protuberance.
Copyright © 2009 Tom Arnone
Melancholy water bug softly eating.
Linda rolling, endless, leaping.
Gentle passion lazily beating.
Salty apparition, silent, peeping.
Huge white horses gently blow,
Looming, ghostly white horses.
In summer breakers they surf and flow,
Beautiful, mostly complex courses.
Softly looming lazy Lin
Lifts her smooth, clog-clad fin.
Melancholy cricket clicks and hisses,
Waking, Tom, who hastily kisses.
Pungent passion water spout,
Crashing sexy lovers seeping.
Two little whatchamacallits twist and shout,
To summer Linda, swimming, reaping.
Skinny Linda gently ebbing.
Foamy spray sifts through her webbing.
Warm Tom lovingly stirring, laughing.
Fleet water beings jumping and splashing.
Eerie floating cytoplasmic forms
In pools of soupy water streams.
In pungent living sunspot storms
He cooks water bug love in the beams.
Copyright © 2005 Tom Arnone
(Revised 2009)
Camila Olga
Set in my hurried hair
And in my pores and through
The blood-brain barrier pair,
And ignited a neuron that blew,
Anew.
For you,
Sweet dreams,
Little, new boo
Of multicolored beams,
Born of cosmic streams,
And from Ecuador, too.
Copyright © 2009 Tom Arnone
You throw dead crackers at walking birds,
More stupid people I've never heard.
And now you're sailing past sinking jugs,
That pause to remember a first love hug.
Tetrahydrocannabinol and carbon rain,
Hosting ghost planets inside your brain.
For the time is near and your world is done,
As the Hellmouth hovers over spoiling fun.
Now I must fight with fortified hands,
The wraiths of fate and demons in the land.
I'll blast them with lasers from my nuclear eyes,
Until the reaper is crisp and death does die.
And then I'll party forever more,
No raven to speak of chilling lore.
My mouth is dry and my heart does race,
As I prepare to battle incomprehensible space.
The phantoms all gather to break my parts,
But I am hot-wired to block their start.
The reaper tries to confiscate my soul in his folds,
Then I zap him (it) with mushrooms from a fusion cold.
And now I'm running from all the gods;
So, I hang with a goddess who digs my rod.
I'm contemplating ... on heavy dark clouds,
To return to Earth for my destined shroud.
This living forever is such a drag,
If I can't have my Dunkin or a girl with a wag.
And I can't throw dead crackers at a walking bird,
That pauses when it sees me -- how absurd!
Copyright © 2009 Tom Arnone
Wild Rhyme Trees
By Tom Arnone
No flowing, rapid rivers
Or pools of chlorine harm,
No lake of starry slivers
Can ever hope to charm
Like a warm and sandy beach
Of moon-swept, salty seas,
On an island out of reach
Growing silly, Wild Rhyme Trees.
Copyright © 2009 Tom Arnone
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