the alien recon
spacecraft
reporting to
the mother ship
set off the
usual alarms
the people
of Earth were
hostile and
dangerous
with a myriad
of nuclear arms
they sped away
at warp speed
but when
they analyzed
the recon
data after
They found the
human’s missiles
were pointed
at themselves
and shook with
alien laughter
The planks and oarsmen
Groaned as one,
The wind began to blow,
And at the bow
Leif Erikson’s
Unease began to grow.
He’d put his trust
In Jesus now
And sailed to serve the Lord–
Yet Odin’s raven
Mocked him as
The longboat left the fjord.
Soon blown off-course,
He pulled aside
A slave in his distress,
And said, “Bring me
Your mistress, thrall,
Bring me the prophetess!”
The witch came forth,
Her robe bedecked
With skulls and precious stones,
And calling on
The Alfather,
She cast her ancient bones.
“What is it?”
Leif called out to her,
“What do the old bones say?”
“They say a man
Should trust his god
To guide him on his way.”
And so he prayed
To his new god
And soon a land was found
Where food and game
Were plentiful
And “wheat and grapes abound.”
The brooding tide of
Worried waves has receded
Look–a golden coin!
dark pointed spires of spruce
reflect in the cradled pond
like stilettos silhouetted
against the soft glow
of zodiacal light
announcing
the dawn
upon us
all
–Photo by me
If we run out of red someday
A sorry place it’d be
We’d rue about Ol’ White and Blue
From sea to shining sea
Our stop signs, lights, and firetrucks
Would lose disparity
While Bibles, wines, and danger signs
Would forfeit clarity
Christmas would be only green
And Santa’s suit just white
And Rudolph’s nose would never do
To guide them through the night
A hydrant turns into a pipe
A barn into a shed
Yes, life would simply be no good
If we run out of red
Perhaps our loss of it someday
Will drive us to the stars
For if our world runs out of red
We’ll have to move to Mars
I stumbled
Upon the edge
Of the world
Where Space-time
Continues not
No man nor god
Can fit here
In this stark
Nothingness
So profound
It strikes fear
In my heart
And yet I
Somehow
know that
The beyond
Is reality
And this?
This is
The dream
–Photo by me
A small thrown stone stills
The cricket cacophony
Just before the splash.
Alas, the brand new clock I’d bought
Soon prompted my dismay,
For twelve o’clock was blinking
On its digital display.
My boss would soon discredit
My occasion to be late:
An electrical malfunction
I could not substantiate.
I called him on the telephone
And told him what transpired–
I told him I was sorry
And he told me I was fired.
I smashed the clock and cut myself
And in the trash it flew;
They say that time can heal wounds,
But it can make them, too.
Loud carets of geese
Insert themselves northward
In the cool spring sky
2:24 AM
The infant
In my arms
Demands
That she be
The center
Of the Cosmos
The minutes
Tick by slowly
As grandpa rocks
The creaking
Hardwood floor
Is trying
To get me
To remember
Some old
Ozzy tune
The minutes
Tick by slowly
As I rock on
Selfish now
But in 18
Years or so
She will
Sacrifice
Every part
Of herself
For another
The minutes
Tick by slowly
michaeljordahl 