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Long Science fiction Poems

Long Science fiction Poems. Below are the most popular long Science fiction by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Science fiction poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by The Seeker | Details |

The Arrival

Listen to poem:
"The divorce just about killed me.  Eleven years of what I believed to be wedded bliss and then she takes off with some schlep she met at the godforsaken post office of all places.  Somehow she still managed to get everything - the house, the Benz, even the dog.  So I quit my job and moved out here to live in the Smokies.  Just me and my tent and the squirrels.  Sir, what I'm about to tell you now is gonna blow your mind.  

Every October I start preparing for winter.  I visit the nearby town and scrounge for blankets, clothes and whatever else I need to keep warm.  Cut some extra wood, bury jars of berries I picked over the summer and so on.  I can still remember that fateful day as clearly as if it was yesterday.  October 21st, 1999.  At exactly 2:03 pm (yes, I managed to salvage my watch from the divorce) as I was chopping my last bit of wood, I heard a strange noise from above the trees. Now I had spent four years in the Air Force, and I can tell you that this was no sound of an aircraft that I'd ever heard.  A strange high-pitched whirring combined with a steady, rhythmic ping, ping, ping.  That's the best way I can describe it.  Anyway, I followed the sound until it stopped, about a hundred yards from my campsite.  I never saw an aircraft of any sort.  It's long been my contention that the invaders had used some sort of cloaking device making their ship invisible to the human eye.  In any case, what I saw next has haunted me for years.  Two dark figures approached from a nearby crag.  I saw them just as clearly as I see you before me now.  To be frank, these aliens didn't look aliens at all, at least not like anything out of Star Trek or Star Wars or even out of Roswell.  They were tall, thin, and for all intents and purposes looked a lot like me.  No red, glowing eyes.  No green skin.  All at once they turned in my direction!  One of them spoke:

'Hey you, got a cigarette?'

Imagine my surprise (and I might add, disappointment).  Here I was privileged to have first contact with an alien species and the first thing he asks me is: 'Got a cigarette?'  Whatever happened to: 'Take me to your leader,' or 'We have come in the name of peace?'  I called out:

'Uh, sorry dude, uh, I don't smoke.  Can I come out?'

He answered: 'Come.'

Now this was no ordinary: 'Come.'  When he spoke it his voice got real deep-like and loud and the sound echoed throughout the mountains: 'Come, come, come...'  It was precisely at that moment that I knew this would be no ordinary encounter.  They were aliens alright!  As I exited the woods and entered the clearing where they stood I got a better look at them.  Worse yet, I got a sniff of 'em.  Something wasn't quite right, to be sure.  A sulfurous, rank odor emanated from them and just about knocked me over.  Impulsively I got down on my knees and started begging for mercy.  I explained that I was just an average earthling, down on his luck to boot, and could really use a break.  The one that had said 'come' looked at the other, and then... and then... they busted out laughing!  This was no mere chuckle mind you.  Before I knew it they were rolling on the ground telling each other that their bellies hurt!  I stood up, suddenly feeling a bit more confident that I might actually survive this thing, which apparently moved them to get up and to regain their composure.  What they said next still chills me to the bone.  The smaller one, who hadn't spoken a word yet said:

'Look, all we really want is your beer and then we're outta here.'

I replied: 'But... I ... haven't got any.'

He said: 'Um, you don't understand fella.  Let me say this slowly: We are here to take all the b-e-e-r.  By the time we're done there will be no beer left on your planet earth.  You see, we have been picking up your amusing beer commercials from space for some time.  Now, we have nothing like beer where we come from...' 

At this point the other alien cuts in: 'Kudos, kudos to your marketing geniuses, creating a need in us that at one time did not exist.  We now MUST have this thing called beer.' 

The other picks back up: '(Ahem) As I was saying, we have no beer on Salos, and so we are here to take all of your Miller Lite...'

The first alien cuts in again: 'Less filling!' The other retorts back: 'Taste's great!'  'Less filling!'  'Taste's great!'  This goes on for thirty minutes!  Finally they break out laughing and then it's back on the ground again.  I think aloud to myself: 'What is this madness?  Have I gone utterly insane?  Surely this is a dream!  Wake up now, wake up now; one, two, three.'"  


"Jim?  Jim, who are you talking to now?" asks the nurse.

"Why, I'm... I'm talking to Sam Dumpty from National Geoplastic Magazine," I reply.

"So... you're talking to an egg.  Great!  Look Jim," she says, "there's no one there.  There is never anyone there.  It's all in your mind.  There is no such thing as aliens.  No Salos.  And I just had a Miller Lite with my boyfriend at dinner last night.  Please, get over it!  Have you taken your meds today?  Now I'm going to get Dr. Soong to come and make sure you're okay.  Be back shortly."

"Well, there you have it Mr. Dumpty.  The true, unabridged tale of what happened to me on October 21st, 1999.  I'd swear to it on my mother's grave!  And we both know that little miss nursey-nursey lied when she said she had a beer last night.  Earth has been beer-less since 1999.  No one has ever been able to explain the sudden disappearance of kegs, bottles, and cans of ale from this planet.  No one but me (sigh).  And for my troubles they've got me locked up in this stinking asylum.  But I know you believe me.  You do believe me, don't you...?"











   


Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by The Seeker | Details |

The Visitor - part 2

colors blending endlessly
through hazy filtered sun
textures changing seamlessly
morphing into one

This was no rabbit hole, to be sure.  More like a wormhole.  How to describe it?  A narrow tube with bright, white light at the edges, but with colors and textures and even scents changing and morphing with the passage of time.  Seconds of time.  Or minutes, even hours, Mary wasn't sure.  The hand she had grabbed hold of while still in her world had vanished.  She was alone.  And before too long, fast asleep.

When she came to all was quiet, except for the sound of birds singing.  She was lying on the ground looking up at a clear blue sky when she heard a voice, different than the voice she'd heard before.  "Mary, are you awake?"  She sat up and looked around.  Everything seemed so serene and peaceful.  Across the lea where she lay there stood a little boy, beckoning her to follow him.  Mary got up and slowly walked toward him.  Nothing about him or her surroundings made her anxious in the least.  "Come, Mary, I'll take you to Mum."  

"Mum, we have another visitor.  Her name is Mary.  Mary Richardson to be exact.  She just arrived an hour or so ago," said the little boy.

Mary looked at the lady he called Mum.  She was old-ish looking, maybe in her sixties?  Her back was a bit hunched and she leaned on a cane, but when Mary looked into her eyes she was mesmerized.  Mum had the softest lavender eyes Mary had ever seen.  And so kind and gentle.  

"Well well, what have we here Tommy," she said to the little boy who'd brought Mary along.  "Such a pretty little thing, but a slight bit on the thin side.  No matter, I'll fatten her up within a fortnight.  Now Mary, do you know why you were brought here, darlin'?"

Mary started to feel a little nervous.  She replied: "No ma'am, er, Mum.  One moment I was in the woods feeling sad and scared and alone, and the next I was, well, here."

"Mary, little Mary Richardson, so much to learn..."

Suddenly, while Mum was in mid-sentence a dozen or so children came running into the little house where Mary had been taken.  They all gathered around Mary and one of them spoke: "Is this the new visitor Mum?  She's a skinny little thing, now isn't she?  Is it time for supper yet Mum?"

"Oh my, with the excitement of a new arrival and all I'd almost forgotten," said Mum.  "Yes, little lovelies, Mum will have dinner for you in exactly one hour.  Meantime, why don't you all take little Mary out and show her around.  Remember, one hour!" 

So the children, thirteen in number including Tommy, took Mary on a grand tour of the estate.  Why, there were acres and acres of fertile ground for planting, fruit trees on every corner of the land and furry creatures that appeared to have no fear of the children at all.  Even the slithery snakes would cuddle up to Mary's bare feet, as if begging to be picked up.  Speaking of bare feet, she was sure she was wearing her green sandals when she ran out of the house on the other side...

"What is this place?" Mary asked.

Tommy spoke up: "Well, I guess you could say it's an orphanage of sorts, Mary.  All of us come from troubled homes.  And we all saw the same door you saw when we were at our lowest point in life.  Mum says that she is the caretaker of this place.  No one knows how old she is, but the strange thing is that none of us children ever grow older!  I myself have been here now for twenty odd years, but I was just ten years old when I arrived.  Look at me, how old do I look, Mary?"

"Ten or eleven," Mary replied.

"Exactly.  All of us except Jillian here, who just arrived a year ago or so, are much older than we appear.  Mary, this place is truly a paradise.  The garden of Eden.  But each of us had to make a choice to stay.  Not everyone does.  Some of the children who arrive go back to their real lives.  Soon, you must make a choice too.  Mum will explain it all to you."

In the distance a bell was clanging.  "Children, time for dinner," called Mum.

"Yippee," they all said.  "Chocolate cake for dessert!"  They each ran as fast as they could and took their place around a large oval table in the center room.  The smell of fried chicken filled the air.  Mary said a little prayer and then dug in.  For the first time in her life, Mary was happy and at peace.  She looked around the table at the faces of the other children and felt a sense of belonging, of family.  

Still, she wondered how her mother was faring back home.  She worried for her so.  And what was this big decision that Tommy had spoken about?  And why were there dark clouds on each horizon surrounding the farm, yet they never seemed to move?  So many questions.  But for now, chocolate cake!

Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by The Seeker | Details |

The Visitor - part 3

things are not always quite as they appear
if only we could peer underneath the veneer...

"Story time, Mum!" called out one of the children.  Tommy explained to Mary that every night Mum would read them a story after dinner.  With bellies full of good food and chocolate cake Mum knew that a good book was sure to make the little ones get droopy-eyed, then it was off to bed.  

Sure enough about midway through the tale some of the children began to snore, so Mum put down the book and quietly whisked each one off to bed.  

"Mary, could you wait in the den dear, I have something to say to you," said Mum.

"Mary started to feel nervous again.  She wondered if Mum was going to explain things to her, as Tommy had promised.  After each child had been safely tucked in Mum entered the room and sat down directly across from Mary.

"Child, do you remember that I asked you earlier if you knew why you had been brought here?" asked Mum.

"Yes ma'am.  But we were interrupted before I could answer.  But really Mum, how could I ever hope to know.  I am just a little girl, and such things are beyond my years," answered Mary.

"Well child, what I am about to tell you may be difficult for you to understand, but let's see what we can do.  Mary, do you have any idea how old I am?" asked Mum.

"I am only guessing, but maybe sixty-five?" replied Mary.

Mum answered, "Mary dear, I am nine-hundred seventy years old.  I just passed Methusaleh this year as the oldest person who ever lived.  You see Mary, when children are brought here their individual life-forces combine to produce a certain cosmic energy.  Everything that you see around you is sustained by this energy, including me.  In turn, I take care of all the children delivered here.  I was brought to this place when I was sixty-four years old to be the caretaker.  Why I was selected I'll never know, though I have always had a special love for children.  The little ones who are brought here all come from broken homes and are given the choice to stay or to return to the place from which they came.  No one ever grows old here, Mary.  But we come as we are, which is why I have this cane.  I broke my leg quite badly before I arrived here and I still limp to this very day.  It's the same for the children, which is why little Janie stammers and Jimmy has no little toe on his left foot, which he lost in an unfortunate accident.  Mary, you must return home tomorrow.  You must once again visit the life left behind so that you may determine of your own free will as to whether or not you wish to live in this place, forever."

"I think I understand," said Mary, "But please tell me about the dark clouds surrounding the farm.  They frighten me so."

"Yes, yes, the darkness," replied Mum.  "It seems that the energy supplied by each child is only enough to sustain these thirteen acres of ground, Mary.  That is why NO ONE must ever step outside the fence that surrounds the estate.  To do so would mean certain death.  Outside of here, where we live and thrive, there is only void, oblivion.  It is said that those who step beyond age instantly and turn to dust in the blink of an eye.  Sadly, we've lost a few over the years who considered themselves adventurous.  Do you understand why it is so important that you always follow the rules here, Mary?"

"Yes Mum," replied a now tearful Mary.

"There there child, let Mum wipe away those tears.  Everything will be okay.  Mum is not gonna let anything bad happen to you sweetie," Mum said as she took Mary into her arms, rocking her till she fell sound asleep.

"Oh Mary, little Mary Richardson, if only you could know what tomorrow will bring.  Sleep child, sleep for now.  Things will work out, sure enough," whispered Mum.  

Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by The Seeker | Details |

The Visitor - part 4

I wish I may I wish I might
please grant the wish I wish this night...

When Mary awoke she was by the little stream where she had seen the door and had disappeared the night before.  She wondered to herself if she had simply fallen asleep and if everything that she had experienced was only a dream.  Suddenly, she got a sick feeling in her belly.  How was mother?  She rushed home as fast as she could and entered through the front door of the farmhouse.

"Mother?" she called out.  "Mother, it's me, I'm home."

No one answered so she looked around.  Room by room she searched until she came to her parents bedroom.  There, stretched out on the bed, was her mother lying with a stranger!  Next to the bed on the nightstand was a bottle of whiskey, and beer cans were strewn about the room.

"Mother?" Mary again called out.  "Mother, it's Mary.  I'm home."

Her mother awoke and rubbed her eyes, while the man she lay next to grunted and turned toward the wall.

"Mary?  Oh my god, Mary, is it really you?" cried out her mother.

"Mother, I don't understand.  Where's father?  And who is this man in your bed?" asked Mary.

"Mary," her mother shrieked.  "It really is you.  Child, the whole town has been looking for you for the past year!  Oh, but no matter, you're home baby.  Are you okay dear?  Has anyone harmed you?  Oh, come here to mommy."

Mary walked reluctantly to her mother, who hugged and kissed her repeatedly and mumbled somewhat incoherently things hard to understand.

"But mother, I only left the house last night.  I slept in the woods because of the fighting.  Where's papa?" asked Mary.

"Child, what are you talking about?"  retorted her mother.  "You've been missing for more than a year!  That night I called the police and your father was arrested and is serving a 2 year prison sentence for hurting me.  When we realized you were missing we searched and searched but all that was ever found was your green sandals in the woods by the stream.  Good god child, where in heaven's name have you been?"

"I, I'm not sure mother," Mary said.  "Can we talk about it later?"

Mary couldn't help but notice the strong smell of alcohol on her mother's breath.  By now her mother's lover was awake and was looking at Mary with a funny grin that made her feel uncomfortable. 

What had happened here? she wondered.  And how could a year have passed by when she only left home last evening?  And just who was this creep in mama's bed?  Trying to sort it all out was making her head spin.  She suddenly felt hungry and went to the refrigerator to look for something to eat.  When she opened the door her heart sunk.  Cans and cans of beer, a half gallon of milk and some cheese slices.  She walked back to the bedroom, only to find her mother and the stranger back to sleep.  How could she?

Mary made her way back to her special spot by the stream that night, wearing the same green sandals she'd worn the night (year?) before.  She got on her knees and prayed with all her might, hoping the door would appear.  Nothing.  Mary looked up at the same harvest moon she'd seen before.  Then she lay down, tired from the stress of the past two day's events.  Two little bunny rabbits snuggled up to her, as she fell fast asleep.  And then... a voice!

"Psst!  Mary Richardson, wake up," called the voice.  

With groggy eyes she awoke, and as she gazed across the stream there was the sign she'd hoped for, an opened door with a tiny hand stretched out and a voice imploring her to come.  Without reservation she crossed the stream, took hold of the hand once again and began the journey to her new home in the sky.

Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by The Seeker | Details |

The Visitor - part 1

"Little Mary Richardson was sad as sad could be,
her mom was never there for her and dad was out to sea.
One day while walking through the woods an opened door appeared,
she walked into the great unknown and thus she disappeared.

Puppy kisses and Barbie dolls are what make little girls happy.  Frolicking carefree through the woods, listening to the birds sing, eating ice cream on sunny summer days.  But not all little girls live sweet, gentle lives.  Such was the case with a certain Mary Richardson from the small town of Hocking Hills.

Father was a lifelong navy man with a love for the sea... and for Jack Daniels!  When he was home his drinking made him bitter and angry.  Many times he would scream at Mary to get out of his sight.  One day he even said he wished she’d never been born.  On those days she would retreat into her sanctuary, the hilly woods at the far end of their little farm.  She would pretend that the bunnies were her children, and they would often sit near the stream and have tea together.  She would tell them how much she loved them, that she was so glad they had come into the world.  

Mother worked ten hours a day just to keep the bills paid.  Besides the three of them there were pigs and sheep to feed, as well as chickens.  By the time she got home at night all she could muster up the strength to do was to fix a light dinner and go to bed.  Mary would entertain herself at night by reading books that she had picked up from the library after school.  She especially loved stories that took her to strange, exciting new worlds!

One night, while her father was home on leave, her parents got into an awful fight and her father beat her mother so badly that she lay on the floor, still as could be.  Mary screamed and ran out into the night, into the woods, her respite.  But she had never braved the forest at nighttime before.  By the time that she arrived at her favorite spot by the stream the moon was high overhead.  A nearby owl let out a hoot, sending a chill down her back.  As she sat there shaking and weeping and staring up at the big harvest moon, she suddenly thought she heard a voice behind her.  She stood up and looked around but saw no one.  Then she heard it again, “Mary.”  She glanced across the little stream and to her surprise there was an opened door with no house, no frame, no nothing.  As she kept on watching a hand extended itself through the doorway from the other side and the voice said, “Come.  Come little Mary Richardson.”

She looked back toward the house.  In the distance she could hear her parents yelling at one another.  Mother had apparently recovered and the two were at it again.  Did they even notice that she was missing?  Again, the voice, “Come on Mary, it’s okay.”  She looked once more toward the farm , then toward the door.  She had no idea what was on the other side, but it had to be better than what was back home .  Mary crossed the stream, took hold of the soft, warm hand and went through the door, which immediately shut behind her, and then vanished.

* to be continued

Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Suki Spangles | Details |

The Aliens' Roswell Conspiracy Theory Is Better Than Yours

Some aliens believe that the so-called Roswell crash
was fake.
So fake!
Fake, because, for one, their flying saucers are not capable of crashing,
and for two, because there is no intelligent life on earth!
Or even stupid life,
Or even really really stupid life,
Although some disagree,
And say that a little really really dreary stupid life might exist there.
But please don't quote me on that,
As I heard all this while having an out-of-body experience,
Like you do.
I had no poems to write that lunch break.

And as I floated above their planet,
(Actually I was in one of their bars),
I heard the alien conspiracists surmise:
How could our transcendental space cadets be taken by earth's military
when earth has no military?
Have you ever seen a earthling saucer leave orbit? Exactly!
Those rocket things are only photographic anomalies!
How can something shaped like a rocket even fly?
They aren't even round or oblong or triangle!
Sheesh..do I need to go on?
They smoked back another psychedelic octopus chaser,
While checking out the groovy penguin dancers rocking the HoloYacht magic carpets.
Yeah baby!

One alien conspiracist continued,
..so look closely at the so-called Roswell crash images,
Don't they all look so suspiciously staged,
Our military-abduction complex at it again,
Convincing us that intelligent life on that stupid planet exists,
All to steal my and your triffid credits -
All for their non-existent stupid trips.
Listen, none of our dolphins were even in that crashed saucer,
I bet they got plastic surgery and are living the high life in Arcturus;
Our emperor found out so got the laser in one of her two heads,
Front and to the right, front and to the right.
Ozwoz Zarvey was the patsy on the Platinum Hill,
Yet, the Xowzer was fired from the incarnation repository -
Snagg Ruby was their well-connected shill!

Earth: empty, barren, ugly,
With a poisonous atmosphere.
Those photos of pyramids,
Are just weathered rocks and shadows.
Now you tell me, how can anything live in an atmosphere of poisonous nitrogen?
How can any flowers grow without Helium 3, and diamond rain?
Didn't you go to science class Two Brains!?
You've been smoking too many of those drinks my orange haired friend.

What's more, the gravity on earth would flatten life like a pancake.
The oceans are full of weird blue water.
And there's not enough methane.
Now what in the name of our Goddess can live in water?
Not one plasma lake in sight!
And not one place on that godforsaken rock can escape
it's violent blinding moonlight.

Yeah, yeah we've read the reports:
Beings live there who have only one head (one head!) who can talk!
Animals with four legs that horizontally walk. Lol!
Give. Us. A. Break.
And get yourself an education before it's too late.
Wow check out that penguin on the left,
Ain't she gorgeous?
Man how I'd love to have hamsters with her..

Copyright © Suki Spangles | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by manek kohli | Details |

Moon

	
Moon 
---- 
 
 
Once night Gretta Foster sat in the backyard, 
building a rocket ship that ought to take her a-far, 
she had been working day and night - tirelessly, 
hammering, programming, all so dexterously. 
 
Then when the sun arose and sparkled in the sky, 
Gretta was still working, that too without a sigh, 
the ship was finally built, Gretta was on cloud nine, 
but going a bit farther up than that seemed rather fine. 
 
She sat inside the cockpit, tightened her seat belt, 
pushed a few buttons, with such admirable stealth, 
algorithms aplenty - all perfectly aligned, 
as the engine started roaring, boisterously alight. 
 
The rocket ascended at last, it set sail yonder, 
to the farthest frontier that this universe could conjure, 
and after it finally left the vivid atmosphere, 
Gretta was so happy, she let out a smiling tear. 
 
Days passed and she was put in catatonic sleep, 
immobile and still, immersed in lovely dreams, 
suddenly with a thud, the ship had landed still, 
She woke up instantly, with a newfound thrill. 
 
She wore the lunar suit, which she had stitched herself, 
opened up the bolted door and descended the metal steps, 
the moment she touched ground, she turned around, 
and got pleasantly surprised by what she found! 
 
A red-hatted impish elf, sat crossed leg, 
a large nosed fairy stood, munching on nutmeg, 
two rabbits bowed down to the rabbit goddess, 
and two more pressed her feet, in a soft caress. 
 
Gretta walked a step and heard the elf shout, 
"oh silly person, take that suit out!, 
we've got oxygen, plenty of em to breathe, 
that suits a waste o' time and energy!" 
 
Gretta obeyed, and unzipped the heavy suit, 
underneath she wore a dress - flowery and cute, 
"good going, young child, now lemme show you, 
this lovely wonderland which you dub the moon!" 
 
And the elf was right, they met unicorns, 
box-laden garden paths and joyous little fauns, 
walking and talking scarecrows, nursing little crows, 
small blue doll houses with chuckling gnomes. 
 
within a crater lived a colony of werewolves, 
but they were nice and fair - specially one named Ulf, 
he'd give her milk and tea with chocolate biscuits, 
and in order to keep her warm, red spotted mitts. 
 
The goddess too was nice, a wise and lovely soul, 
"be imaginative and create, but don't forget your goal", 
she'd also give her nutmeg of such abundant variety, 
her best friend was a Faun, so strong and mighty. 
 
and the Minotaurs build Gretta a lovely home, 
with a mushroom roof and walls build of foam, 
"stay here with us, Gretta, you'd have a great time", 
said the red-hatted elf while singing a rhyme. 
 
Gretta thought and thought, she came to a decision, 
she decided to stay for sure, she looked forward for her admission, 
and from thereon, life for her was perfected, 
all her dying wishes had suddenly been resurrected.
 

Copyright © manek kohli | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Aa Harvey | Details |

Unknown enemy

Unknown enemy


In an alien world with three moons in the sky,
A luminous thing flies high in the air.
It looks like a pterodactyl,
But it has three heads and breathes fire.
My fellow soldiers and I are searching for resources,
Among the dead bodies; inside a spaceship called ‘The Debonair’.


It’s been here for over a hundred years;
But no man has been to this planet since.
It was just a coincidence that we heard its distress signal,
As we passed by, heading for Alpha Six.
Our home world we haven’t seen now,
For seven months and sixteen days.
But now we have a new mission:
Salvage what we can and bury the bodies in graves.


Sergeant Angelos is reading an elegy, to commemorate the dead;
While the scouts we sent our earlier, haven’t reported back yet.
The scouts are on gravity bikes looking for anything we can use,
But so far they have found nothing but volcanoes and rivers of sulfur…
But something has found them.


They didn’t know they were being followed as they returned to base.
There is a loud other-worldly scream in the distance
And we are all put on high alert.
“What the Hell was that Captain?  I don’t know Pike; 
Hit the dirt!”


A huge ball of blue light is flying straight towards the medi-bay;
Soldiers run this way and that and thankfully we are all safe.
But the medi-bay is destroyed by an alien weapon.
“Fire at will!”  Shouts the Captain,
 As strafes of bullet fire fly off into the distance,
In search of the alien.


“Where did it go?  Anybody see it?”
There is silence; then a shout.
“It’s there!  Two o’clock, beyond the red rocks!”
We all open fire and create a dust cloud.


As the dust disappears the Captain says:
“Did we get it?  Is it dead, or not?”
Before anyone can answer, there is another scream
And this time it comes from behind us.


“Oh my God!  This thing's got friends!
Round up the caravan’s lads, we’re hunkering down for the night.”
As the sky gets darker, more aliens surround us
And our bullets fire lighting up the sky.


Blue luminous fire rains down upon us and our barricade.
Our ground to air ship, takes a Hell of a beating,
But it’s been through worse than this in its days.


By morning light, the shooting has ended.
We all walk out our ground to air ship and see what we can find.
There are dead aliens all around us, seventy five in total.
The cheers and joy of our victory, 
Has been sullied by the number of our side who have died.
Fourteen gone from us; taken by an unknown enemy.
This is our job, our life, our fight and our destiny.


As we leave the planet behind, the memories stay with us.
We have conquered one enemy; 
Now we are heading home to our family and friends.
The people we do this for and the people we love.



(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © Aa Harvey | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Tom Arnone | Details |

Sonnet 14, Part 3 of 3

Listen to poem:
11. They came to devour and sin.
I was briefed by a cornucopia of beings:
From Torchwood, ARGUS, SHIELD and their kin;
The Talamasca, The Shop and MiB Greens;
A BPRD agent who was burning in Hell;
The Syndicate, Consortium, Watchers and Trust;
The Illuminati brought a golden bell;
C.L.I.T.O.R.I.S., MHI (such knowledge robust).
The collider at CERN had opened the rift.
A nanoscopic tear in a monstrous dimension.
Worshipers, ever vigil, exploited that gift.
Now we must, utterly, curtail their ascension.
Then into the house she entered, shrugging.
There was a kiss and a hugging.

12. There was a kiss and a hugging.
Rescued from a cult in Ipswitch.
Her demeanor, ethereal, bugging.
She slept with a peculiar twitch.
My angst and attention will have to wait
For monster judication and portal castration.
Outside, we gathered, fearing our fate --
Awful things floated like blimps in formation.
By whatever means, we search in teams:
Arkham, Innsmouth, Dunwich and Salem;
CERN, Antarctica, the Nan Madol dreams;
Jerusalem's Lot, Beelitz-Heilstätten Asylum;
Transylvania and the Isle of Dead Creeple.
We worship a circular steeple.

13. We worship a circular steeple.
Time repeats when trapped in a vortex.
I'm driven to Brooklyn in a VW diesel.
A Tesla device in a Gravesend complex.
Bug-eyed tenants, oblivious, contemplate.
In the boiler room, it whirs and hums.
A competent team attempts to recalibrate
Until a big blobbish Shoggoth comes.
Then two ... and three. We scatter in fright.
The Shoggoths engorge and enfold the device;
But, not before a self-destruct is set alight.
The object destroyed; but, at such a steep price.
These things are here to herd the sheeple.
Soylent Green is made of people.

14. Soylent Green is made of people.
The rift at CERN has closed at last!
A major cleanup, and a mess of fecal.
Civilians clueless through a MiB blast.
The sun is out, the sky sublime.
I drive, antsy, anticlimactic, anticipating.
A return to normal space-time.
Sad goodbyes. Partnerships dissipating.
I hold her hand on the couch of gloom.
Stroking her witchy, Veronica Lake hair.
A warm wind kisses the flowers in bloom.
The radio's singing, cable's back on the air.
She hisses with a tooth-decaying smell.
Ripples in warm sunbeams dwell.

15. Ripples in warm sunbeams dwell.
A soul in flux begins to stall.
I meditate on a living well.
I pray the night may never fall.
A flicker blurs beyond my eye.
Softly she sits upon my knee.
A many-legged thing I spy,
My silent lady tries to flee,
It's a beautiful world we live in.
A hole in space needs plugging,
They came to devour and sin,
There was a kiss and a hugging,
We worship a circular steeple,
Soylent Green is made of people.

Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Tom Arnone | Details |

Sonnet 14, Part 2 of 3

Listen to poem:
6. Softly she sits upon my knee.
I doze and drift as the radio squeaks
Of sunspots and the honeybee.
The cab wind whistles and creeks.
I sense monstrous, hidden beings
Attempting to open forbidden portals
To hideous, evil, inhuman fiends,
Elder gods and insatiable immortals:
Kassogtha, incestuous sister of Cthulhu,
Craving worship and flesh to devour --
Shub-Niggorath, Ghast and Gug, too.
And what of the Mi-go in space at this hour?
The cabby awakens my dream to deny,
A many-legged thing I spy.

7. A many-legged thing I spy,
That swiftly creeps the fences.
My silent honey starts to cry
As sleep restores the senses.
In designated, remote locations,
Misshapen, proto-human forms
Recite blasphemous invocations,
Starting Tesla portal storms:
At the Transantarctic Mountains,
To the Lost City of Pnakotus;
At R'lyea's nightmare fountains,
To Yemen, Babylon and Memphis.
In subterranean caverns at the LHC,
My silent lady tries to flee.

8. My silent lady tries to flee.
I force an Oxy down her throat.
The phone is dead; no net, TV.
A car horn sounds a bleating goat.
I sit with her on the couch of gloom.
It's a hard day's night to be resting.
Recalling a pleasant Beatles' tune
When a bump at the door ... testing.
Three shark-eyed strangers, swaying.
She has risen, bloated, not right.
They crash through the door, decaying.
I'm immobilized by greenish light.
They molest her with unspeakable sin.
It's a beautiful world we live in.

9. It's a beautiful world we live in.
That Devo lyric the sound I hear.
Repeating cycles of Yang and Yin.
Darkness consumes light in fear.
Wrought from multi-infiniverse string:
Voyager probes sing DNA pattern;
Kong is the eighth wonder world King;
Flying parallel the rings of Saturn;
Andre the Giant, Bismuth crystals;
Jupiter spins its great red spot;
Machu Picchu, Yellowstone thistles;
Red bananas and old Martian snot;
Pyura chilensis (living rocks loving).
A hole in space needs plugging.

10. A hole in space needs plugging.
That's what I saw; but, I must have been dreaming.
Alone. Angry. That vicious mugging.
A connection to others who can see this scheming.
Why now? Perhaps, a rare cosmic alignment;
A natural or premeditated dimensional break.
The solution is clear: capture and confinement.
With senses enhanced, I cause allies to wake.
Thankfully, most of the planet has yet to succumb.
She was taken by monsters, forcibly -- or, voluntarily.
I wait patiently, in misery, for smarter ones to come.
Save for insanity, the Summer day proceeds ... warily.
The room is crowded with new friends who begin:
They came to devour and sin.

Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016

Long Poems