Best Enterprise Poems
"May the Force be with you!" Spock said
Leaving poor Jan shaking her head
For Bones does not care
That fills Jan with air
Since Kirk logs, "Warp Speed Launch" instead
The storms, last night, adept in flash flood fright.
It’s good to stay inside until first light.
The day before, I stopped for gas, aghast
as I stepped out the wind and leaves did blast
around my core. My heart was beating quick,
and lightning struck, pounding its thunder stick.
The passenger behind me laughed - the draft
became a vortex vice from stern to aft.
It tried to sweep me off my feet, in dance.
The leaves, they twirled around in brief romance.
The tug and pull, the see and saw…the sweep
of sideways waterfall caused me to leap.
The enterprise a f f i n i t y of storm
invites its dalliance and quick perform.
A crippled mass of beggars
Each at the corner of every street
Deformed by cruel and greedy hands
They perform their daily feat
Of scrounging from the passers by
The people in their cars
Their pathetic, doleful entreaties
Oh, how my heart it scars
Yet who is the beneficiary
In this profit-full career?
I'm sure it's not these limbless souls
Whose lives are not there nor here.......
Whose plight we don’t wish to hear
Star trek
Space ship
Starfleets
Captain
James Kirk
His crew
Spock's from
Vulcan.
Scotty,
Sulu,
Chekov.
Blast off.
Hold tight
full warp.
Where to
New worlds.
How long
five years
deep space
Explore
planets.
Places
no man
has gone
before.
Slow down
Locate,
Transport
us down
Searching
for life.
Strange noise,
turn round
danger
lurking
near by.
Fearsome
creatures,
run for
cover
fast as
we can.
Beam us
up now
Scotty.
On board
relief.
Captain
records
in Log,
time date
Where we
have searched,
escaped
all safe.
Onwards
deeper
into
darkness,
only
starlight
guides us
towards
mankinds
dreams of
finding
others
in our
likeness.
Mission's
Over,
the search
goes on.
Having me a real hard time—freedom
out here where a stoned god
don’t speak my language
defiles the immaculate,
and I am going mad
in search of great enterprise.
In search of great enterprise,
I seek freedom
from the mad—
a stoned god
static in a sky, immaculate.
I listen for cosmic language.
I listen for cosmic language—
a holy enterprise.
Starless are the heavens, immaculate
in their freedom
from a stoned god
gone mad.
Gone mad,
I lose language—
blame god
and his ego enterprise.
In his grasp, there is no freedom.
In me, I seek the immaculate.
In me, I seek the immaculate.
I embrace the mad—
my mad is freedom.
Language
is an enterprise.
I am my own god.
I am my own god—
immaculate.
I am an enterprise.
Name me mad.
Speak my language.
I am freedom.
Freedom, out here where a stoned god
don’t speak my language defiles the immaculate.
Name me mad, for I am my own enterprise.
caught short singly
one rainwrote morning in hyannisport
when snows a science
over iceroof and snowfloor beachsand and
eastersundaysun a milton shadow opportunity
opposite sleeping young and russetrocket cool
in ferriswheels of rococo chestnut hair
shortblack pleatedcotton skirt carouseling round creamcoffee legs
swinburne stretched in desert stockings slightly spread
hands lapclasped
nose artdeccoerect eyes razed marble monuments lips
just lips
chinachin touching down on a fire
work whitesilk blouse no ruffles
a plainsong of anti flesh skinquisitive
toes still and borne just like ejaculated popcorn
jacket buttered lemonleather
shoes pumps patented starbust bright
bag royal with umberous umbrella tossed
off about her
cottoncandybreasts roughly rippled by the rucked road to
go tunneling
not traveling
descartes launched in
parting
only a starspangledbanner thought
old Lucy Gray reserected
equated
transcribed for solitude
for nine hours bad road
Some shout no to corporate welfare
And spit on those who say otherwise.
Tax loopholes seem unfair,
To those who minimize
Their day-to-day and scrutinize
The monthly budget.
The craftsmen yowl this advice,
Be a Maker, Not a Taker.
An artisan lists out what's true and fair;
A list of various jobs and supplies.
To complete his family's share
Of fruited endeavors reprise.
The labor like clockwork unifies
The sons and daughters sextet.
The craftsmen sing a fanfare to canonize,
Be a Maker, Not a Taker.
The effort rolls on in splendor
Fulfilling and occupying their lives.
Each embraces the craft and takes care
To improve with each enterprise.
They learn new ways to devise,
A trio rhythm to the minuet.
Until their breath greets sunset,
Be a Maker, Not a Taker.
Years hence others apprise
The fruits of their labors sweat.
Finished works inspire others to reprise,
Be a Maker, Not a Taker.
Mayday, Mayday Kirk!
Transport to Galileo
Needs energizing
Running on impulse
All deflector shields are down
And venting plasma
Possible core breech
Romulan battle cruiser
De-cloaked and attacked
They've taken the ship
Corbomite Maneuver may
Be the last resort...
Keeping the heart on our palm
We race a rat-race;
A race of the human race
To build a civilization, modest enough to crunch
At a simple knock.
It's our empire, our politics;
Our mammoth self of self-respect
And headlong pride of centuries old legacy.
What an enterprise!
Between the lion and the mouse
We try relentlessly to sign
A partnership deed,
A memoir of understanding.
I have a cause
Because I dream of a 'connect',
Where East, does not breath gunpowder,
And the West
Does not supply weapon
Ambition breeding cold determination
Every facet guiltily held in jotted keys
Lurking making numerous opportunities
Pleading quick reaction seldom thinking
Undermining valiant workers xenophobic
Yearning zealously among bidders
If I were to make my X-wife’s fury into a Star Trek analogy
It may end up looking quite similar to the Wrath of Khan
Each bridge red and smoky, ‘Red Alert’ til it’s annoying
As I ask for counsel from my trusted, “Suggestions, Mr. Spock”
"If we are all one
And there is no separation
Perhaps the birth pains have begun
For your soul’s evolution
Perhaps she is you
All the while you are she
Now the test is what will you do
To your ‘perceived’ enemy?
Possibly my most helpful tip
If you want to move to another level
If you were to destroy her ship
You may really destroy yourself
This scenario is quite similar
When the transporter had that quirk
When you beamed through the transporter
Producing a ‘good’ and an ‘evil’ Kirk
There is no logic to her actions
Evidence this is an illusion
Maybe the test is your reaction
To this potential self destruction
Perhaps now you must decide
If the events you see are real
Thus the question from your guide
Can you learn to lower shields?"
So how much time would it take to unlearn reality?
Perhaps this is the illusion for me to build upon
But I remember finding out that my accounts had been depleted
And my red-face bobble-head furry as I scream aloud “KHAN!!!!!!!!!!
…………..CON!!!!!!!!.........................................................
………………………………………………KHAN!!!!!!!.....................
……………………..CON!!!!”
Up from the floorboards
Creeps green heat.
It seeps under my head
Through a hole in the sheets.
It blankets the windows
And shadows the ceiling.
It licks at the lampshades
And spawned my skin peeling.
Into the cupboards
Comes a noise.
It mangled the marshes
With three lecherous ploys.
It danced with the Devil,
A bystanding Lasher.
It curdled the saintly
And dubbed the dead masters.
Down from the spiderwebs
Slide warm hands
That pull at the fabric
That had once been their bands.
They fondle the willing
To dawn a dim future,
To center sensation,
And parent new squalor.
Out of the fire
Sickness calls.
It drips to facade me
Thoughout winters and falls.
In through the Underpass
In a sick, silent prose
Two magistrates and I
With my eyes half way closed.
Supermarkets stay open
The corner grocer can't
His plans, hopes and dreams
All crushed like an ant's
Big box retail has income from selling its wares
As the little guy quietly tears out his hair
His door must stay closed; those are the rules --
of free enterprise in the land of the cruel
Politics is an enterprise
Prediction must bow to intrigue and surprise
You could philosophize in detail but then have to summarize
You could appeal in entirety or locally polarize
You could seek to cause but things unfold to make you realize
And in all these, some will be cast down and some will arise
Politics is an enterprise
Trading supporters who support and critics who criticize
Propagandists who propagate and sensitizers who sensitize
Dividing the cake by influence and pocket size
All dockets are assigned who to lead and who to deputize
So tell me who rules between the rich and the wise
Politics is an enterprise
The standing of countries is by economic size
As good and as meaningful as is dedication and sacrifice
It comes to the fore for fallen heroes when we eulogize
But the wealth that can organize, disorganize and reorganize
Is in full effect without regard for sunset or sunrise
Politics is an enterprise
To be honest, people have paid the price
Can we therefore call the profit thereof a vice
Only if instead of sheepdogs we have a band of mice
I say it is serious business in selling hope in no disguise
So be one who thinks twice
K. Muitherero.
Saturday here on the holodeck
Jiminy Cricket dances around
to keep baser instincts in check
theoretical ethical dilemmas abound.
The holodeck is like dream time
capable of desires and fantasies
events both horrifying and sublime
played out, life across the galaxies.
An actor on a stage of possibility
can play the part of hero or villain
dastardly or the epitome of civility
darker motifs behind curtain hidden.
Which, to be or not to be, selected
choose, and get into character to portray.
Is the actor the character, or unaffected
by the actions of the part that he plays?
Is it harmless release to play it "bad"
and too, is it no value to play the "good".
Was Hamlet's character really raving mad,
or the sheriff far worse than Robin Hood?
All the world's a stage, us merely players
might go beyond the cornered universe
to philosophers, hucksters, soothsayers
all who purport good to bad and obverse.
The doors to the holodeck close "shwoosh"
and our man by the door gives a nod
tonight's experience might be an ambush
or tomorrow's wizened connecting rod.
Life's lyrics still sing melodious tunes
for singers, actors, and audience to decide
Jiminy with umbrella and hat, so croons
"Always Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide."
© Goode Guy 2011-06-08
tweeeeeeeeeeet...all hands report to the holodeck!