THE ASTRONAUTS SEEK TO REASSURE ME OF THEIR SAFETY

by Kathleen McIntosh

In a news conference from aboard the International Space Station, Butch Wilmore and Suni Williams said they had confidence in the troubled spacecraft to get them home. (NY Times, July 10, 2024)

 

 

I know in their place I would worry, seeing earth whole

––oceans, continents, poles––

and they themselves . . .

 

No, says NASA, the astronauts are not in danger, not stuck in space; they’re just doing some additional testing of the thrusters. But the questions continue, variations on a theme:  How confident are you that the Starliner will get you home safely? Butch and Suni are patient, though they have taken time out of their work for this. A reporter persists: Can you give us examples...  about the status of Starliner as far as being able to bring you back to earth safely?  Suni smiles, bats away his concern:  It’s great to be up here.  Her casual manner seems grounded in certainty; her wavy hair flies out from her head in all directions, wiry, Medusa-like––will we be turned to stone for questioning the logic of this optimism? 

 

I know about the vanishing rain forest,

melting ice sheets, spreading desert and yet,

how thrilling it would be to see it all as they do:

our one and only         so fragile         suspended out there... 

Horn of Africa,

Malay Archipelago,

Isthmus of Panama––delicate waist of America,

the poet called it. Hell on earth

say those crossing the Darien Gap     

from Peru, Ecuador, Venezuela, Brazil, Haiti, Ethiopia, India, China,

Democratic Republic of the Congo––

no, from up there I wouldn’t see the ant-like procession,

ragged, polyglot,

on any given day a planet worth’s sampling, citizens

of nowhere-on-earth-that-is-safe––

 

Yes, the astronauts confirm, they were able to watch the hurricane that became Beryl. The question gets more personal: What have you heard from your family? Was there any damage to your house?  Still smiling, they pass a mike back and forth between them or allow it to float free for a few seconds. Well, says Butch, we’ve got some downed trees like most people...  but thankfully we’ve got good church folks and good neighbors that are coming by... 

The news conference is coming to an end.  In Texas, concludes Suni, everybody pulls together. She launches herself into a weightless backward flip.

 

Author’s note:  NASA is now considering bringing the astronauts home on a Dragon SpaceX capsule, an option which would mean that Wilmore and Williams would need to remain on the space station for six more months. A decision about this will be needed, says NASA, by the end of August.

 

 

Kathleen McIntosh moved to New England following a peripatetic childhood.  She remained there, teaching language and literature for many years. Now retired, she lives in Connecticut where she writes poetry and serves on the Board of the Connecticut Poetry Society.

POET LAUREATE ADA LIMON CREATES A POEM TO BE ENGRAVED ON A SPACESHIP

Others invited to include our own names on a chip

by Alice Campbell Romano

https://europa.nasa.gov/message-in-a-bottle/sign-on/

Years ago I bought you a star.
The framed certificate turns up 
now and then
when I sift a desk, weed a bookshelf.
An undistinguished star 
somewhere 
with your name.
You would better have appreciated
my renaming Mars for you, 
red combatant. 

Earth registers stars 
from Earth’s point of view,
assigns coordinates,
sells naming rights.
Maybe only Earth has this compulsion
to brand the infinite.

Our ambition sends craft 
to search out life
on Jupiter’s moon Europa.
We shall leave Earth’s mark— 
in—be astonished—

a poem 
about Earth. Poets ache.

I am tempted without reason
to piggyback, to add me, 
on a microchip
to Europa. 

You didn’t care when I bought you
a star. I will escape for a billion miles,
to the edge of the infinite, in my 
name alone. 

Alice Campbell Romano lived a dozen years in Italy where she adapted Italian movie scripts into English, married a dashing Italian movie-maker, made children, and moved with the family to the U.S., where they built, she wrote, and the children grew. Her poems have appeared in—among other venues—Prometheus Dreaming, Persimmon Tree, Pink Panther Magazine, Orchards Poetry, New Croton Review; Beyond Words, Writing in a Woman's Voice, Quartet Journal, Instant Noodles Devil's Press, Moon Shadow Sanctuary Press. In January, she was awarded HONORABLE MENTION in The Comstock Review's 2022 Chapbook contest, "...not an award that we give every year, but an honor set aside for a few manuscripts." Alice swooned. 

HUBRIS

by Robbie Gamble

News item: scientists are jubilant

as a golf cart-sized hunk of space

payload pulled up and T-boned

a minor asteroid a touch more

massive than Fenway Park—

a veritable bullseye—our first

home entry into the extraterrestrial

demolition derby. Newsfeeds showed

grainy shots of an apparent pumice

stone looming in the void, then

a blank screen, followed by polo-

shirted Mission Control engineers

high-fiving and avowing “This one’s

for the dinosaurs!” as if they

might have changed the course

of paleontology had NASA been

operational back at the end

of the Cretaceous Era. Today

we are watching as Hurricane

Ian, a Cat 4 beast, is slamming

into the Florida Gulf Coast, and I

bet there’s a whole bunch of golf

carts being swept inland with

the storm surge, while the governor

hunkers behind hasty barricades

of banned books, and the Red Sox

might have to relocate for next

spring training. A certain president

floated the notion of nuking hurricanes

back out into open water. Hmm. And

there was also that business of beating

a virus back with bleach. In space,

no one can hear you tee off.

Robbie Gamble (he/him) is the author of A Can of Pinto Beans (Lily Poetry Review Press, 2022). His poems have appeared in the Atlanta Review, Lunch Ticket, RHINO, Salamander, and The Sun. He divides his time between Boston and Vermont. 

THE CROWD ISN'T BOOING—THEY'RE SCREAMING "LOOOOOOOOU"

by Flavian Mark Lupinetti

Good idea, Sweet Lou. 

No need to nuke the moon. 

Just… scooch it over a little. 

Like you said, make it travel 

in a slightly bigger circle. 

Or a slightly smaller one, 

whatever, let the Forest Service 

guys figure it out. 

Oh, I know you know it’s an ellipse. 

Just… adjust it. 

The foresters have the know-how, 

not to mention a whole lot of 

picks and shovels, right? 

Sure, you could ask NASA 

to do the job with rockets. 

But I see what you’re after. 

Change the moon’s orbit, 

but do it in an artisanal way. 

Flavian Mark Lupinetti, a writer and cardiac surgeon, received his MFA from the Vermont College of Fine Arts.  His fiction and poetry have appeared in About Place, Barrelhouse, Bellevue Literary Review, Beltway Poetry Review, Briar Cliff Review, Cutthroat, The Examined Life, Neon, PROEM, Weber—The Contemporary West, and ZYZZYVA. 

RESPONSIBLE SPACE BEHAVIORS

by Marsha Segerberg

You can keep an eye on the re-entry of the Long March 4B at Aerospace.

“Heads Up! A Used Chinese Rocket Is Tumbling Back to Earth This Weekend. The chances of it hitting a populated area are small, but not zero. That has raised questions about how the country’s space program designs its missions.” —The New York Times, May 7, 2021

The Long March 5B is tumbling out of control. 

A 10-story, 23-ton array of hurtling

rocket junk. Uncontrolled re-entry.

Yes.

 

It’s a bus that went to a space station called Tiangong,

Chinese for Heavenly Palace.

 

Chances you could be hit are not zero, they say in the news.

Some time Saturday. Maybe Sunday.

Chicago is safe. New York City—maybe not.

 

I think it’s irresponsible, said someone from NASA.

Some people are not displaying responsible space behaviors.

said the press secretary.

 

A NASA satellite about the size of a school bus,

whammed back to earth in 2011, but only a 1-in-3,200 chance

anyone would be hurt. That’s what they calculated.

 

The Long March 5B could spread 10 tons over hundreds of miles.

Think about three pickup trucks’ worth of debris,

NASA said. Not so bad, spread out like that, right?

 

There was the Columbia, disintegrating over Texas. 

No one was hurt on the ground by the 85,000 pounds of junk. 

I wonder if that included the seven astronauts..

I wonder what their collective ashes weighed. 

 

There was the Challenger blowing apart after launch. 

Another seven astronauts. Several crew members

 are known to have survived the initial breakup

 of the spacecraft... no escape system... the impact

of the crew compartment at terminal velocity

with the ocean surface was too violent to be survivable.

You can visit the metal pieces in a museum.

 

There was Apollo 1 that didn’t even get off the ground,

so not to worry about falling mangled debris. Just

three astronauts burned up on the launch pad. 

We don’t count them as space junk. 

It was only a test.

 

They say they’re doing their best to stick ocean landings,

(except for the Long March 5B, for which there is no plan).

I wonder what the fish think.

 

Marsha Segerberg is a retired biology educator and member of COW (Community of Writers) in Phoenix, Arizona. Her poems have appeared in Chiron, Rat’s Ass Review, and Rogue Agent, among others. She lives in the Phoenix desert with her dog, Peggy.

ON MARS WE'RE BRIEFLY FLYING

by Chris Vola

 

The winds declined to rip

the helicopter to pieces,

its carbon-fiber blades

spinning furiously,

defiantly, churning

for a few seconds

in the flushed sky,

even though sooner or later,

like all expensive toys,

its sunken parts would be left

to fill with dust,

even though a storm

would eventually

take an antenna,

the circuitry would garble,

landing gear would be

plucked like scabs.

Still, NASA applauded.

Elon Musk re-tweeted.

Someone proclaimed

“a red-letter day on the Red Planet!”

From 178 million miles away,

another data burst confirmed

that the helicopter

had touched softly

back down on the rutted 

ground, where only rovers

dared to tread.

The waiting was finally over

for the engineers,

who, giddy from their screens,

began to believe the future

could be tolerable.

They immediately forgot 

the gorgeous sunlight that

filtered through the oaks

outside the command center,

or the clogged freeways 

where blood & plastic 

spilled like SpaceX

propulsion fluid across

our still-living desert.

The Earth's concerns

had become irrelevant  

to them, like a neighborhood

with unknown sirens & sickness,

or the bus-stop profile 

of a sleeping family.

The Earth itself, unmoved

by progress

on another sphere,

would only turn

& brace its stem

against its own putrid winds.

Most of us would continue

to stay in the homes

we’d been staying in 

& busy ourselves

with the swipe-&-click

routines that could never

really sustain us,

pretending not to hear

the whirring in our heads,

or see the ugly

bubble cockpit

of a much different chopper,

one fueled by muzzle-flash,

& boredom,

& lungs twisted

full of loss,

its impact heavier

than a verdict,

emptier than the spacesuits

we’d never wear 

while prancing

in the Martian gravity,

awaiting Elon’s rise

from cryogenic slumber

to save us

on the third day.

We'd long

given up wondering

why it came

for us this way or

if we might escape

it, its appetite whetted,

its wide blades

ready to grind us into

the only dust

we’d ever know. 

Chris Vola is the author of six books, most recently I is for Illuminati: An A-Z Guide to Our Paranoid Times (William Morrow, 2020). His recent poems appear or are forthcoming in New Pop Lit, The Collidescope, The Main Street Rag, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Horror Sleaze Trash. He lives in New York. 

CRACKING THE CODE

by Dick Westheimer

This annotated image was taken by a parachute-up-look camera aboard the protective back shell of NASA's Perseverance rover during its descent toward Mars' Jezero Crater on February 18, 2021. Using binary code, two messages have been encoded in the neutral white and international-orange parachute gores (the sections that make up the canopy's hemispherical shape). The inner portion spells out "DARE MIGHTY THINGS," with each word located on its own ring of gores. The outer band of the canopy provides GPS coordinates for NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Southern California, where the rover was built and the project is managed. —NASA, February 25, 2021


Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat. —Theodore Roosevelt, “The Strenuous Life," April 10, 1899

The drogue deployed in a blue black sky
pulled nine Gs as it slowed the rover’s descent 
a rosette of white and red, it opened wide—
revealed to an observant few, a code

that drove the NASA team, words that T.R. wrote
of a strenuous life, of toil and hardship
of failure and strife: these are not a footnote
but the stuff of creation, of life’s drift

from the gray twilight to glorious triumphs.
There is no “easy peace,” just all the mighty things
from day to day, from here to enough
of how we end and how we begin, like

dying well
washing the dead
tending the sick
writing the one poem
writing the other
giving birth
being born
sitting silently, leaned against a tree
sitting silently 
listening
hearing
passing by a panhandler
sitting by a panhandler
depressed, getting up in the morning 
sleep deprived, suckling a baby
wiping shit from the butt of an aged parent
knowing from the taste of soil if it’s sweet
forgiving a friend
learning birdsongs.


Dick Westheimer writes poetry to makes sense of the world—which is made easier by the company of his wife of 40 years, and the plot of land they’ve worked together for all of those years. His poems have appeared in Pine Mountain Sand and Gravel, For a Better World, and Riparian.

2020 CD3: ODE TO THE NEW MOON AND MY OLD COLLEGE ROOMMATE

by Susan Barry-Schulz




The earth has a new moon—it’s only temporary—roughly
the size of the orange Volkswagen Beetle you tried
to teach me to drive
until we ended up incapacitated
by laughter, backed up down a steep incline,
inching closer and closer to someone’s
front door, the Bronx being a tough place
to learn to shift gears.

The tug of other beings—the sun,
the primary moon—will inevitably pull
this mini-moon from its unstable orbit,
as was with us—flung— far from each other
toward new loves—big skies, mountain peaks—rock walls,
river towns—we drifted a bit over time—and space—
reconnecting again
when the tides went out.

When I picture us now as the Earth’s new moon
I see us at twenty—
that orange bug stocked with Salem Lights
and Diet Coke and our radiant bodies— you
strong enough to rope a calf and shoot a bear
and me—I don’t know what the hell I was good for,
really—but I could run for miles and make you laugh—
whizzing weightless along the trajectory
singing along to that Bruce Hornsby tape
still stuck in the cassette player
            the song came and went
            like the time that we spent
looking through the windshield at the whole
swirly blue-green earth before us
as if it was ours—

then showing up
three years later on a screen in a NASA lab
outside Tuscon Arizona—an unexpected flash—just a few pixels,
really, but enough to get the researchers’ hearts
beating a little faster
as we appear again and again—a tiny blip
against a fixed background,
still flying high—
while astronomers
across the world scramble to predict—they have ways
of graphing these things—

the path of our escape.

Susan Barry-Schulz is a Physical Therapist and Tai Chi instructor. Her poetry has appeared in The Five-Two, The Wild Word, Minute Magazine, SWWIM, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, Shooter Literary Magazine, Dream Well Publishing’s One Hundred Memories Anthology and most recently in South Florida Poetry Journal. She is a member of the Hudson Valley Writer's Center and lives in a lake neighborhood in Putnam County, NY with her husband and one or more of her 3 adult children. It all depends.

A 30-DAY TRIP ON THE INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION

by Martin Elster

One day soon, you won't need to be a member of the traditional astronaut corps to visit the International Space Station. But you – or your corporate sponsors – will need very deep pockets. "We are announcing the ability for private astronauts to visit the space station on U.S. vehicles and for companies to engage in commercial profit-making activities," said Jeff DeWit, NASA's chief financial advisor, at a launch event held Friday in at NASDAQ headquarters in New York. Up to two private astronauts – who must meet the same physical requirements as any other NASA astronaut – will be allowed to fly per year and work on behalf of companies. Each seat is expected to cost more than $50 million and the first could launch as soon as 2020. —USA Today, June 7, 2019

Far higher than the vultures, cranes and bats
that soar as in some reverie or dream,
for loads of dough, you ride inside the cream
of satellites, race round a world of rats
and angels locking horns like dogs and cats,
observe vast oceans glisten, cities beam,
and feel about to hurl. You start to deem
the whirling washers in the laundromats
of Earth remarkably serene. Somewhat
emboldened by the expedition crew,
you try to take deep breaths. Yet, truth be told,
what’s really making you a sickly sot
are all the greenbacks you’ve just spent, your hue
now paler than a wilting marigold.

Martin Elster serves as percussionist with the Hartford Symphony Orchestra. His poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. Honors include co-winner of Rhymezone’s 2016 poetry contest, winner of the Thomas Gray Anniversary Poetry Competition 2014, third place in the SFPA’s 2015 poetry contest, and three Pushcart nominations.

TWO QUATRAINS

I’ll Take a Shot at It
by Rick Mullin

“For all of the money we are spending, NASA should NOT be talking about going to the Moon — We did that 50 years ago,” Trump said on Twitter. “They should be focused on the much bigger things we are doing, including Mars (of which the Moon is a part), Defense and Science!” —The Washington Post, June 7, 2019

The president speaks of supply chain enhancements:
When Exxon connects all the parts,
We won’t know precisely just where the moon ends
And where the new Mars venture starts.


Rick Mullin's newest poetry collection is Lullaby and Wheel.


A Marriage Made In Hog Heaven
by George Salamon

"Once a book-selling giant, Barnes & Noble sold to hedge fund.” —Crain’s New York, June 7, 2019

You want my books,
I like your money,
This looks like a transaction
Breeding mutual satisfaction.

George Salamon used to buy lots of books at Barnes & Noble, but has never been inside a hedge fund.

NEW HORIZONS

by Mary K O'Melveny





Ice is red here.  Blood red.
Lava red.  Forest fire red.
Cold sears like flame.  Or so
one might think from afar.

They say it all began
in this distant cluster
of frozen rocks.  Our sun
lies four billion miles out.

We could be wrong about
everything. Gravity’s pull
is different in new orbits.
Patience is required.

Warped by turmoil, we turn
outward, searching sky signs
for cosmic engagements,
for hints of original sins.


Mary K O'Melveny is a recently retired labor rights attorney who lives in Washington DC and Woodstock NY.  Her work has appeared in various print and on-line journals. Her first poetry chapbook A Woman of a Certain Age is available from Finishing Line Press.

THE MOON 2018

by Harold Oberman

December 24, 2018 marks the 50th anniversary of NASA's  Earthrise photograph. Harold Oberman was young enough when the Apollo missions filled him with optimism, but on earth, circumstances have changed. His poems have recently appeared in TheNewVerse.News and are forthcoming in the Free State Review.

THE HEART IN DARKNESS

by Geoffrey A. Landis

Image source: New Horizons Spacecraft Displays Pluto’s Big Heart

Geoffrey A. Landis is a scientist, a science fiction writer, and a poet. As a science fiction writer, he's written over fifty short stories and one novel, which have appeared in over 20 languages.  As a poet, he has written numerous poems, and has a new collection, The Book of Whimsy, coming out at the end of July.  As a scientist, he works at NASA John Glenn Research Center on exploring Mars and developing new technology for space. 

APPROACHING CERES

by Geoffrey A. Landis

This image was taken by NASA's Dawn spacecraft of dwarf planet Ceres on Feb. 19 from a distance of nearly 29,000 miles (46,000 kilometers). It shows that the brightest spot on Ceres has a dimmer companion, which apparently lies in the same basin. Image Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech/UCLA/MPS/DLR/IDA

dimpled spinning ball
ice in bottoms of craters
glints bright in sunlight


Geoffrey A. Landis is a scientist, a science fiction writer, and a poet. As a scientist, he works at NASA John Glenn Research Center on developing new technology for space.  As a science fiction writer, he's written one novel and over fifty short stories, winning the Hugo and Nebula awards. As a poet, he has written numerous poems, including this one.

PLUTONIC

by Charles Frederickson & Saknarin Chinayote

A pair of small alien worlds, Ceres and Pluto, move into the spotlight this year as spacecraft arrive at their cosmic shores for the first time. NASA's Dawn spacecraft released its first views of Ceres on Monday, already hinting at previously unknown craters. Still ahead for NASA's New Horizons probe is former planet Pluto, billions of miles from Ceres and the king of a distant, icy realm. Both are dwarf planets, mini-worlds that just don't make the cut as official planets. It's a vast population of worldlets that scientists don't know much about. But if all goes according to plan, that will change starting now. And it's about time the little guys got some attention. --Nadia Drake for National Geographic, January 21, 2015

In square world spherical obliqueness

Dwarf planet Pluto asteroid Ceres

Obscure classic rock ‘n roll giants

Water vapor rising icy volcanism

What lies beneath iron core

Subsurface ponds lakes seas oceans

Flood of data requires validation

Icy outnumbering terrestrial gassy rocky

Pluto’s moons atmosphere bending sunlight

Charon Hydra Nix Styx Kenderos

Pluto twice size of Charon

Unjust travesty stripped of planethood

Largest outer solar system dependent

Reigns slightly ahead of Eris

Orbit so elongated crisscrossing domains

Categorically downgraded blacklisted by ex-spurts

Eight full-fledged planets enduringly survive

Pneumonic spoiled My Very Energetic

Mother Served Us Nine Pizzas

Outcast suffering complex inequality complex

Tipsy topsy-turvy cosmic seesaw consciousness

Science séance predicting what’s next

New Horizon groundbreaking astrogasm discoveries

Mistaken identity Status Quo-Vadis regained

No Holds Bard Dr. Charles Frederickson and Mr. Saknarin Chinayote proudly present YouTube mini-movies @ YouTube – CharlesThai1