Scifi Sonnet 3

News from Pluto

Something's about to happen. I'm not sure what.

I've watched for long enough and, yes, I get

Impatient, as the months slip by. And yet

This is important in a way I'm not.

Earth, erratic, crosses the ecliptic;

By day, the sun's scarce bigger than a star:

It makes you realise just how small we are.

Will I get home? I must be realistic.

Gravity's low. Perhaps my bones grow thin.

I jog the corridors, try to keep fit,

But face the fact (there's no escaping it)

I have become this waiting game I'm in.

One day, it'll happen, I've no doubt.

Exactly when, I don't know. I'll find out.


Is it

a lintelstone

waiting for the door 

to be opened

a hearthstone

waiting for the fire

to be set

a millstone

waiting for the wheat

to be harvested

a boundarystone

waiting for the land

to be disputed

a milestone

waiting for the road

to go somewhere

a gravestone

waiting for the settlers

to settle down

an altar stone

waiting for something

to be given

or just a stone,

waiting for the sun

to rise

and touch it?

Naming of Plants

(with apologies to Henry Reed)

Today we have naming of plants. Yesterday,

We had weeding. And tomorrow morning, 

We shall have what to do after planting. But today,

Today we have naming of plants. Though gunfire

Can be heard coming from the television,

Today we have naming of plants.

This is Galium Aparine, which is also known as Goose Grass, 

The preponderance of which will become clear to you, once in the garden. 

This is Epilobium Angustifolium, known as Rosebay Willowherb. 

At last, on TV, the firing has stopped and sirens 

Can be heard. As for what's going on beyond the borders, 

Who knows? We can but wonder.

This is Urtica Dioica, the removal of which can be 

Unpleasant without gloves. And please do not let me

See anyone attempt it in a short-sleeved shirt. One can do it

Quite easily, so long as no flesh is exposed. The blossoms

Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see them

(They are, surely, malevolent) until it's too late.

And this is Taraxacum Officinale. Its intention 

Is to conquer the earth. All we can do is our best

To rid ourselves of it: we call this pulling up the Dandelions.

We do it in Spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards

Men in uniforms can be seen running (on TV).

Someone said it was another kind of Spring.

And Spring is when the trouble starts: it is

Perfectly easy if you have strength in your fingers for the Goose Grass,

For the Willowherb, the Dandelions, and time to weed

(Which, in our case, we have not got). The guns

Remain silent. All will be well, perhaps, after all.

And today we have naming of plants.

Dominic Rivron was born in 1958. He lives in the North of England. He is a music teacher who composes music and writes poetry. He is a past winner of the Yorkshire Prize at the Ilkley Literature Festival and has had poetry published in Scratch Magazine, Pennine Platform and The Poetry Bus. These days he usually publishes his poetry online. Dominic's blog is here.

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