Best Astronauts Poems
Is that a sphinx we see on Mars
Resembling the one in Egypt
Just how were the pyramids built
And pharaohs placed in lavish crypts
When Mars’ oceans began to dry
Did species seek preservation
Did ancient astronauts arrive
To colonize a new nation
To date, the complex construction
Of Egypt’s tombs sparks speculation
Are Martians in man’s family tree
Hanging limbs, green blood relations
* For the "Sphinx Head on Mars?" contest
AQUATIC ASTRONAUTS
beneath blue depths they train
it feels a lot like home no gravity
you see
moon shine and ripples
floating bloated bodies
and airtight head gear
of steel
here they speak universal
truths
vernacular bubbles
in claustrophobic
booths
delusional dialogue
hydra hallucination
days of depraved
youths
brains strain blended in bends
above harsh daylight hammers
pound
buried under static gales
where sanity is lost and
found
dispersed authenticity
drowns whilst spoken universal
truths
rest calm in underwater
booths
transcending
tranquil peace
resounds
(Astronauts train underwater)
© Kim van Breda—23 February 2015
My untimely Lover,
Take in the notion that this
Is not the proper moment.
This is not the moment to be seen
Or get fed.
This isn't the part where the rain falls
Or when the clouds decide
That beacons should take over by dusk.
I have considered many long nights
Past the judgment of a juvenile mind
And they have all been but forgotten.
I have realized the sentiments
Of mothers built on morphine
But I have not dismissed
The outcome of subordinate fathers.
I stepped past an ugly lawn
With a proto type framework
And drifted between the lines,
Mingled with the guests
And smoked my lungs away,
Cried my eyes out,
Or left the football team stupefied.
With this injunction,
I'm compelled to leave a message
For a penny and a praise.
If this seems questionable,
My ill clad Lover,
Take the time to memorize
My most infamous traits.
I write smut for a living
And eat sex by the handfuls.
Do you remember that time we danced on the moon, our bodies entangled, our breath in tune.
Yes, you took my breath away. Like I'd left the earth.
After you I was floating in space. You took me to a different place. Like I'd seen all the cosmos.
That night left me every kind of heartbroke.
If I could take that trip again I would, I'd go back, and see the moon.
Because I feel like that journey across the stars, just ended all too soon.
And I was wondering, if you did too.
I guess what I'm asking is, can we explore the unknown together. Not for one adventure, but every adventure after. How would you feel, about being astronauts forever?
For a man....
A calendar marks fifty years
since an audacious mission,
a rare moment of global unity,
a leap forward.
But there is no leap, no grand
accomplishment without small steps.
Before female computers
slide rule math was machined
into mechanical gears,
then encoded in ones and zeroes,
first in cards and vacuum tubes, then transistors,
now microchips and nanobots.
Before Saturn rolled out,
behemoth pointing to the heavens,
Gemini made numerous flights, orbiting
our pale blue dot.
Before Gemini, Mercury reached
tentatively into space.
From the Wright brothers at Kitty Hawk
to Goddard's experiments, each step
expanded our knowledge and horizons, allowing
Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins to strap in
to the world's most powerful rocket.
Accelerating to seventeen thousand
miles per hour to park above
earth
before translunar injection,
navigating two hundred thirty nine thousand
miles through black void, men of Apollo
took a giant leap forward
with one more step.
Engineers turned theory into rockets.
Test pilots turned astronauts flew
them - and us - to the moon.
And we take planes to the edge,
pushing boundaries, until
we turn the calendar
one day and marvel
at a new world, far
from that first
small
step.
- A tribute to the astronauts, scientists, engineers and workers who expanded our horizon in 1969; written for the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing. The "we" in the poem refers to pilots who compete in the International Aerobatic Club (IAC) as well as IMAC, the International Miniature Aerobatic Club. Published in the IMAC newsletter, Vol. VII, 2019.
Astronauts
Everyone makes mistakes, even scientists.
They used to think earth was flat.
Now, they fly around it.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
January 20, 2010
Poetic form: Kimo
Astronauts - out to space
To extend the human race!
Look for planets and stars galore
The life will never be a bore!
Lost Astronauts
Another black day in our land;
Our hearts are filled with grief.
There is only one place to turn,
To find needed relief.
Dear God please meet them at Your gates
They dared to reach so high.
Is mankind growing much too bold;
Are we not meant to fly?
Our president has said it well.
“We didn’t see them land,
We know they have gone on to home”.
Someday we’ll understand.
You gave us need and ambition
In our short lives to find
The key to all the mysteries
Created by your Mind.
Please bless our earnest endeavors
To do the best we know
To get where we are going.
Where you would have us go..
We ask protection for the ones
Who carry out the plan
That You have firmly planted in
Resourceful mind of man.
Our nation is in deep mourning
Our hearts are full of pride,
For each of those brave pioneers,
Who dared to reach and died.
By: Joyce
So I heard some fake news the other day.
Fake news.
Fake news about a mothers sons bruise,
because he bit off more than he could chew.
Her aching mind always at odds because she couldn't diffuse the situation that made the accused,
depression,
her sons namesake.
Fake news.
Stemming from cooked up ideas, brewing from his inner most thoughts.
Like astronauts,
the few words he uttered always came in space.
And when asked about that suitcase he carried all day,
everyday,
his whole life to be exact.
He didn't utter words, but just shadows of everything else he should have said.
His words hang like he did,
in his head every night he lay flat.
Flat on his back.
Day came.
And so he watched the skies, an image he thought was himself because he was always blue.
Colorised like that light skinned craving that everyone including he called beautiful.
His dark skin tone ugly.
His body cloak the darkest night without the stars a splitting image of his life.
It had no shine and honestly I think he knew.
Fake news,
of a whisper in the wind carried by voices of people that showed him bodies they called beautiful but never did he hear it for himself.
The pain he felt never just words,
it felt like a book.
A scrapbook abandoned on that old creaking bookshelf, next to memories of his childhood he now could not recognise.
He tried to wash away the thoughts, but those tattoos fastened tightly to his neglected skin.
I mean him.
Whose eyes didn't make you feel the many years of his mother's love,
but just the guilt of depression pouring outward from within.
I said fake news.
His knees stained with mud because his knees deep in dirty thoughts,
tears,
and regret.
That neighborhood boy that brought about that fake news is dead now.
Fake news because he showed us the stars.
His dreams in a jar, that's spelt to the ground.
The background theme depression.
The impression he left was that he never wanted the crown.
Overburdened by life,
and expectation.
That neighborhood boy at the bottom of the ocean drowned.
19/10/17?
As the vastness of heaven falls before my eyes
The twinkling of its luminous dwellers reveals presence
Allowing my eyes to focus on the depth of the skies
Feeling at one with the greatness of the many stars
I feel comfort in the genuine sparkle, almost as an accolade
Thereby warming me, welcoming me from as distant as Mars
My voyage is great, but not as when I return back to mother Earth
The big blue marble, as she calls me home, to the shores and land I love
To the many who care, who applaud my return, to the place of my birth
They left home nine months ago,
they didn't go to war... they went to outer space!
they kissed their loved ones, their family.
and went to the farthest reaches... in a special spaceship!
They promised to return, although they knew,
perhaps that wouldn't happen...!
When they left, they knew:
the world would continue in fire and tears,
madness and disenchantment...!
Their struggles were different...
They weren't wars of conquest,
cowardly wars against the defenseless...
Other missions, perhaps megalomaniac
ideas...
THE CONQUEST OF SPACE!
They went, and there they stayed,
studying what they felt, saw...
nine months... a life!
No gravity, no movement
no normality, no wind...
No mundane, human contact...
Locked up, unable to leave,
unable to return...
new problems,
no apparent solution...
No piss normally...
No poop normally...
No crying!
Drops, any residue...
without being able to spit,
without being able to produce
any bodily fluid,
natural by-product
no artificial control
of scientific standards...
nothing human, nothing... nothing!
But thank God... they're back...
but they can't go straight to hugs!
Quarantine... various procedures,
various exams, care...
Be careful! will they be the same, ... !
or have they been born again!
Watching astronauts who fall in love is always fun.
These two had a united front that yelled out “one”.
The greatest relationship if extremely well done.
Two together, united in thinking is powerful, son.