On Deborah Willis' space-writing brilliance, what William Shatner, Olivia Rodrigo and I have in common + a November writing prompt.
Thanks Britt, great prompt. I appreciate it.
EMPTY UNIVERSE
There is so much nothingness it must reflect
Some truth important to absorb.
Around our sun, nine planets,
I am not letting you go Pluto <3
Specks.
A cosmic dart thrown at the solar system will
Mostly miss and travel on into emptiness.
Though swollen foggy Jupiter is 1300 earths, thumbed together like clay
It remains one more speck in our solar system,
Which is empty even of echoes.
From our sun to the next sun there is vastly more space
Driving in a sports car there would take 23 million years
Without stopping for fuel or toilet breaks.
The next nearest sun is three times further.
Each, though massive, just a pixel on a blank screen
Everything else simple blackness
Through which our dart sails
Striking nothing.
Nothing is what the universe is full of.
Those two suns are numbered among the
100,000,000,000 stars in the Milky Way.
The next galaxy with its billions is
So far removed, light takes 25,000 years to shine from there
In between:
Nothingness, empty waiting absence. Past all hope.
Still under those night skies there is something to be done.
Live. Create something beautiful. Be kind.
Your art matters because it makes you whole.
There is no heaven, no god. There is only what we create
Under the stars.
Brilliant, Alastair! Thanks for sharing this poem.
Thanks Britt, great prompt. I appreciate it.
EMPTY UNIVERSE
There is so much nothingness it must reflect
Some truth important to absorb.
Around our sun, nine planets,
I am not letting you go Pluto <3
Specks.
A cosmic dart thrown at the solar system will
Mostly miss and travel on into emptiness.
Though swollen foggy Jupiter is 1300 earths, thumbed together like clay
It remains one more speck in our solar system,
Which is empty even of echoes.
From our sun to the next sun there is vastly more space
Driving in a sports car there would take 23 million years
Without stopping for fuel or toilet breaks.
The next nearest sun is three times further.
Each, though massive, just a pixel on a blank screen
Everything else simple blackness
Through which our dart sails
Striking nothing.
Nothing is what the universe is full of.
Those two suns are numbered among the
100,000,000,000 stars in the Milky Way.
The next galaxy with its billions is
So far removed, light takes 25,000 years to shine from there
In between:
Nothingness, empty waiting absence. Past all hope.
Still under those night skies there is something to be done.
Live. Create something beautiful. Be kind.
Your art matters because it makes you whole.
There is no heaven, no god. There is only what we create
Under the stars.
Brilliant, Alastair! Thanks for sharing this poem.