My Soul, Like Manhattan

Posted January 21st, 2008 by Prometheus 6

Poetry for men

My Soul, Like Manhattan
By Earl Dunovant
Copyright © 2002

Manhattan from a distance,
Its hydrocarbon halo
Glowing golden in dawn’s light,
Is very photogenic

We approach, the halo fades,
The golden light turns gray and
Our vision is reduced to
Its accustomed cloudiness

And we think no more of it.
And we cannot even tell
We grow more numb each day
Living in the heart of the haze

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31 October 1998

On January 21st, 2008 James R MacLean says:

I write, and music moves my reverie,

Filling my mind with dreams of Space.

I see the veiled face of Jove, where bursts

Of lightning reveal turbid swaths

Of darkling orange and aubergine.

I see the shimmering heat of Venus clad

In vibrant orange and chowder clouds —

Volcanoes shaped like two hands clasped.

What music this? Incongruent with Space

But not, I think, with visions of

The comforting clasp of velvet strength.

A coign of air and heat (or shield therefrom):

Imprimateur of earthly yard,

Imprimateur of turbulence.

They speak wrongly to call a ship what glides

On tracks inviolate, though long;

For what is Space, but maze of tracks?

And we took our different tracks, you and I:

Such different planets, but, oh,

What similar voids to be in!

I wrote that while

On January 21st, 2008 James R MacLean says:

I wrote that while daydreaming about exploring Jupiter's or Venus' atmosphere. In order to survive such a voyage, the spaceship would have to be "a coign of air and heat (or shield therefrom)," such as I cannot imagine.

The poem was a letter to my older sister, and that's who "you" is.

Prometheus 6