The Alien

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by Greg Delanty



I'm back again scrutinizing the Milky Way
of your ultrasound, scanning the dark
matter, the nothingness, that now the heads say
is chockablock with quarks & squarks,
gravitons & gravitini, photons & photinos. Our sprout,

who art there inside the spacecraft
of your ma, the time capsule of this printout,
hurling & whirling towards us, it's all daft
on this earth. Our alien who art in the heavens,
our Martian, our little green man, we're anxious

to make contact, to ask questions
about the heavendom you hail from, to discuss
the whole shebang of the beginning & end,
the pre–big bang untime before you forget the why
and lie of thy first place. And, our friend,

to say Welcome, that we mean no harm, we'd die
for you even, that we pray you're not here
to subdue us, that we'd put away
our ray guns, missiles, attitude and share
our world with you, little big head, if only you stay.

Comments

  1. RoseFebruary 22, 2010 at 6:40 PM

    Wow, yet another amazing poem from your blog. I think my pregnant friend may like this one. But the one about being "in the middle" brought tears to my eyes, as that's the one that's the most relevant to my life now. Such a bittersweet time.

    ReplyDelete
  2. UnknownFebruary 22, 2010 at 7:29 PM

    Wow Whee...smiles.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Mary EllenFebruary 22, 2010 at 9:09 PM

    Wonderful mix of images: the humanly tender/small infant to be, and the voyager coming from spaces far beyond us.

    ReplyDelete

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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)

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