Poetry
In the movie “Dead Poet Society” Robin Williams asked the question, “why do we write poetry”?. He gave the answer, “we don’t write poetry to measure its rhyme or meter, we write poetry because we are human, our little piece of the continuing play of life”.
When I found out we had a Wiki I asked the question, “what should we put in it? There are so many great Wiki’s out there?.” Rxke gave me the answer. Or at least part of the answer. We will try to tie into the wiki poetry and story. We will give it a human touch instead of just cold facts. We do this because it is as important to teach people the passion and the dream as it is to teach them the cold facts. As a group with a dream of a second cradle of civilization: we want to share that dream; we want to make it something that people can see, feel and touch in there mind.
To do this we will present poems, stories, objectives, solutions and facts. Through these tools we hope to feeling of the bring the breeze of the red sand against the elastic space suite to life. The reader should know what is like to like over the ledge of a ravine that dwarfs anything on earth, to ride to the top of the largest volcano in the solar system, to strike water in a frozen desert and to bring a dead world to life.
The Beach of Rust ref
Skipping pebbles in the Martian dust,
Making ripples upon red hewn rust,
Graceful arc to precede each rocks fall,
Motion given by this human call,
Sea-shore where no liquid waters run,
Mankind repeats beneath distant sun.
By Clark
The continuing adventures of Herm the Worm. ref
Now there came a call for all worms.
Annelida was the true term.
Arthropods, don't apply.
Only earthworms will fly,
For to Mars you'll go they affirm!
They'll send you to break up the soil.
Without you their gardens would spoil.
Who are "they" you might ask?
Why, who else for this task,
But NASA to do all this toil.
So Herm sent in his resume,
But didn't hear back until May.
His friends thought him crazy,
His eyes were all hazy
With tears for he'd go there to stay.
His suitcase was packed to the hilt.
He left with no feeling of guilt.
Oh, he loved his homeland.
He'd be famous he planned,
So he wore his favorite kilt.
The rocket took off with a roar,
Squishing Herm's soft face to the floor.
He thought he'd surely die.
Then he began to fly.
He was in the astronaut corps!
by Ian Flint
