Galactic Beacon

Science Fiction, Humor, Poorly Drawn Comics

Poetry

O Captain, My Captain++

9/5/2011 jeffa

By Albert, Lord Graspington from source material by Walt Whitman

O Captain, my Captain!
My wicked, AWESOME Captain!

Our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weathered every rack,
and we had a lot of fun!
Plus those aliens who came down from space,
we kicked their asses back!

Not only did we kick their butts,
the prize we sought is won;
though I am not sure what we should do
with a bunny, giant and plush, O.
Perhaps the tiger or the snake would fit the ship's decor, O.

The port is near,
the bells I hear,
the people all exulting,
except that guy, on the left,
who seems to be convulsing.

While follow eyes the steady keel,
the vessel grim and daring;
But, O heart, heart, heart!
Heart, heart, heart, heart! O!
O the bleeding drops of red,
intestines draped about the rail,
brain spatters on my shoes, O!
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
fallen cold and dead.
Ask not my heart how I know he's dead,
when you can see the hole in his head, O!

O Captain, my Captain!
rise up and hear the bells;
you hate the bells,
this well I know,
but people like to ring them,
so I guess you'll have to deal, O!

Rise up--for you the flag is flung--
you could just pick it up (but NO),
for you the bugle trills,
for you the circus thrills!
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths--
and nearly naked girls, O!
for you the shores a-crowding,
for you the whores are shouting,
For you they call, the strumpets all, their eager faces turning;
Though I must admit, when last we docked,
they left my loins a burning.

Here, Captain, dear father!
this arm beneath your head!
But not MY arm,
for it is too gross,
how the ichor leaks from your perforated head, yo.

It is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead.
Yet I pinch myself, and it does hurt,
so I guess it's not a dream, O!

My Captain does not answer,
his lips are pale and still;
I poked him with a pencil,
but his reactions were just nil.

My Captain does not feel my arm,
or hand upon his wallet,
he has no pulse nor will;
For comfort's sake I think one thought,
"At least he's not a zombie."

The ship is anchored safe and sound,
its voyage is closed and done;
I'll miss my Captain, yes I will,
but that trip was still quite fun.

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
but I with mournful tread,
burdened by giant bunny plush
Walk the deck where my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead.
But at least he's not a zombie.

O!

No Time

8/24/2011 jeffa

For a long time there was nothing,

although it could have been

No time at all.

Time may not have been,

or it might not

Have been time but something

Else.

Then It happened.

Bang.

Not just bang;

BIG BANG.

Now there was time.

Time for all things.

Things became things,

and things pulled other things

To become

BIG things

until the big things were

Big enough to FLAME ON

But not flame, could not be flame because

NO O2

But HOT and BRIGHT

and the BIG things made

NEW things

And NEW things until they couldn't make any new things

And when they stopped creating,

they started dying

And the things they had made crushed down on them

And some made crazy new things and

blew themselves Apart,

throwing their things away.

But some things kept things

and pulled more things

Until they crushed things into no things.

But most things made things

and things killed things

Until OUR thing was made and

OUR thing made US.

We learned to make things

and break things

and smash things

to see things,

But what ARE things

and why why

and why and WHEN?

And why when?

But HOW WHEN?

We dance.

We dance in time to the beat we feel but cannot find.

Forward we dance and never re-dance

but little things dance

And might not dance the way we dance

but dance the other way.

And why?

And how?

Could we dance the other way

might we dance a different dance

And what would happen to all the things

if we didn't dance the same dance again?

Would they dance?

Would we dance into ourselves

and what then?

How long can we dance

before the

beat

dies

out

and things

 

Spread

 

out

 

And one more time

There is No time.