Posted by Rich Magahiz
Tue, 22 Jul 2008 19:32:00 GMT
Do
not
bother
to bring a
toothbrush, or a book –
it’ll be over sooner than that –
but you’ll want a camera and a box of postcards.
And when they bring the tray of drinks
and make you sit up,
make a scene!
They made
us
wait.
Virgin employees sit in the cabin of a prototype
Virgin Galactic
SpaceShipTwo spacecraft at the Science Museum on February 14, 2007 in
London, England. The Virgin Galactic SpaceShipTwo is destined to be the
first ever vehicle for space tourism. The SpaceShipTwo will carry six
passengers and two pilots, offering a total flight time of 2 hours.
Around 200 firm reservations have been placed already with projected
flight costs estimated to be $200,000 per passenger.
Propulsion system for hybrid craft blows up
Posted in sequence, senryu | Tags fibonacci, mirror, space | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Fri, 20 Jun 2008 01:30:00 GMT
addressing
that sweet abyss:
“yes, yes”
shot full of holes, the substance of our dreams
Sklar, Gibson, and Yong –
their lungs full of
something grey…
floors turn into ceilings (halfway there)
still,
she had to go back…
the smell of burning hair
the purple ones are the girls, I think
there, boy, look!
that nebula there
that was your father
I count the stars; each one flares and dims
he tells her
“put on your other face,
the other”
flecked with hot sauce: angel wings, deep-fried
text, don’t write:
my senses have taken
leave of me
they took a risk. who remembers them?
the loudest prayer
ever said…
and it was answered
Posted in scifaiku, poetry, sequence | Tags religion, space | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Tue, 20 May 2008 13:53:00 GMT
her fat melts away
not the way
she’d intended
bank manager’s desk: a sulphrous haze
as we had been told
our guns were useless,
useless
with rockstar teeth, your friend’s head swivels
pretty roomy inside
and she gets good
parsec-age
mall rat gawks: “that’s what cordwood’s like”
reunited
his strong arms…
that’s not my Daddy
Posted in scifaiku, poetry, sequence | Tags alien, apocalyptic, invasion | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Mon, 03 Mar 2008 00:33:00 GMT
the wall of the Food Court - stars march up
inside the nail salon: Clan Jade Claws
perched dragon style: the loading dock sleeps
like water they part, Big and Tall Men
escalator down; the swish of bamboo
this septum-pierced punk - you too must fall
naked the sun shines… a lithe dark shape
Posted in poetry, sequence | Tags stellarenga | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Sat, 01 Mar 2008 02:34:00 GMT
Hot?
Sure,
I’d say
that one’s hot -
entering a room
walls buckle, the lights shift to blue,
sensitive meat seismometers trace out pressure waves,
and spacetime folds bend to accommodate the incarnate representation of ‘hot.’
Hats off to my friend Ian whose comment suggested the image.
Suhail al Muhlif: The brightest O-type star and one of only four WR stars bright enoughto have been observed spectroscopically in UV by COPERNICUS.
Posted in poetry, sequence | Tags fibonacci, space | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Sat, 26 Jan 2008 15:54:00 GMT
I
Matisse,
in his forties,
was years before his peak.
So what’s the rush? I’ve still got loads
of time.
II
Bastard!
that young pipsqueak
doesn’t deserve that car.
I raced Mustangs when he played with
Hot Wheels.
III
Okay,
I’ll lose some weight,
and switch to light beer too.
I’ll show my old lady I’ve still
got it.
IV
Hang on,
maybe there’s a way.
If I could sell this place…
Dammit, what’s the use, who am I
kidding?
V
Ali –
he missed his chance
at gradual decay.
Strange to picture him living to
my age.
Posted in poetry, cinquain, sequence | Tags crown, time | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Sun, 30 Dec 2007 05:45:00 GMT
an outer ring of heck
smelling of
strawberries
her hands full of cloud
tissues of scorn
Lee’s redoubt
where dark lines find
their griefs multiply
an ounce of ash
and that too soon gone
tender to the bone
our enemies
our hearts’ ease
how long
this machinery of grace?
her life list:
a spidery red hand,
then nothing
the sea sucks at the rock…
pink-flushed foam
first bacteria
then fungi
kiss their host
the coldest flame:
we all wear our pyres
Posted in poetry, sequence | Tags solo | no comments
