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Best Poems Written by James Ph. Kotsybar

Below are the all-time best James Ph. Kotsybar poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Godma

When you picture God, 
do you envision a Zeus 
or look about you?

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In Praise

I feel blessed by your informative write.
It was inspired and very well put.--
A pleasure to read your post to this site.
I loved every, single metrical foot.

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Martian Conniosseur

MAVEN tastes the air
too thin to hold oceans' broth
wafted on Sol's winds.



Note: this is my entry for NASA's "Going To Mars" campaign.  I believe it deserves to win, because in 17 syllables it not only summarizes MAVEN's (Mars Atmospheric Volatile EvolutioN) mission, but also alludes to the meaning of its name as an expert or connoisseur (as though it were a master chef, lifting the lid on the desert planet to sample its boiled away oceans).  If you agree with me, please visit the link below (just copy and paste it into your browser) to vote your support, before July 29.  You may make this offering one of three haiku to be carried to Mars -- THE FIRST POETRY TO ANOTHER WORLD.
 http://lasp.colorado.edu/maven/goingtomars/entry/?13480
Thanks to you all.

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Zombie Dawning

-- James Ph. Kotsybar

The zombies are coming; no one knows why –
no time to ponder such things anyhow.
Apocalypse gives us no time to cry.
Survival is all we can think of now.

They hunt for us in slow, relentless mobs
and push past all our barricades by force.
We stifle our screams and swallow our sobs
to realize we are just their food source.

There may exist a ruling, safe elite –
the privileged who caused our current woes
and watch us as we’re torn apart like meat –
but likely they’re no better off.  Who knows?

For us, they won’t sweep in to save the day.
To them, we never mattered anyway.

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Wave Goodbye

An electron, so perfectly round
it could spin without wobble or sound,
was measured carefully
at  fixed velocity,
but its position couldn’t be found.

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Rhyniognatha Hirsti

Four hundred and eight million years or more
ago, these mandibled arthropods were alive
left years to languish in the fossil drawer,
unearthed again, just crushed remains survive.

These natives of what would be Aberdeen,
by nearly thirty million years, predate
the oldest bugs that anyone had seen --
New York’s silverfish must now abdicate.

Their body shape seems to exemplify
what we today can still identify --
ancestors of our modern dragonfly --
and that they had four wings we can imply.

What does it matter?  What’s it signify?
Once life emerged from seas, it learned to fly.

Details | James Ph. Kotsybar Poem

Topping the Star Charts

Voyager 1’s “The Sounds Of Earth”

Eleven billion miles from the sun
a record, golden when it left these parts,
a runaway hit on Voyager One,
at Ophiuchus, sure to top the charts,
will introduce Mozart to other stars,
not to mention Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode”.
The knock-offs sold in alien bazaars
will knock their socks off or at least it should
make them extend their eyestalks in surprise.
They’ll soon begin to learn to sing along
to whales recorded and the baby’s cries —
adepts might even master Earth’s birdsong.
Should Beethoven not prove to be their fave,
Then Guan PingHu’s GuQin could be their rave.

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Dark Matter

The universe is mostly abnormal,
if we accept that physicists aren’t wrong
and gravity remains uniformal,
otherwise galaxies couldn’t last long.

They’d spin themselves apart, unless, unseen,
missing mass resolves the disparity.
Dark Matter is needed to intervene.
Though not found, it can’t be a rarity.
 
“The clusters are like icebergs,” they patter,
“since Newton’s math holds true, so should be served. 
There’s five times as much as normal matter,
or else momentum’s poise can’t be conserved.”

Though they’ll claim science is observation,
that’s often tweaked to fit the equation.


                             -- James Ph. Kotsybar

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Tipping Point

In the millennium’s first dozen years,
they say we’re headed for a tipping point --
a disastrous sum of many fears
when Nature herself will crash and disjoint.
It’s not the Mayan calendar that’s cause,
nor the Sun’s circumstantial alignment,
but our careless consumption without pause
and our uncontrolled wholesale consignment.
Our survival’s not a dress rehearsal.
We are fast approaching the precipice
where it will be too late for reversal.
Earth’s ecosystem hangs over the abyss.
If you’re reading this and claim you don’t care,
we don't need to wait; we’re already there.

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Dollar Stores

Baubles assembled
By suicidal workers
Somewhere in China.