Barsoom’s Favorite Pastime

Another WIP. I’ve been writing a lot of fiction recently, and poetry is a good palate cleanser—my personal spumoni.

Mare Ludovicopolitanum

There’s sublimity in swinging for the fence,
In ceding your grand intentions—
Or your uncertainty—
To fate,
In a single blaze of swift decision made
In faith,
In vainglory or innocence.

And there’s more than a world
To be gained by trading grass for sky—
Separating,
If only for a moment,
One slight white orb
Fashioned by finite hands,
From this titan-borne globe—
Crafted of Word or chance,
We can’t decide
Or won’t understand.

Yes,
Along those fine-edged heights,
Where scaling means staking life and legacy,
Those who fail may fall—
But always upward,
Denying gravity’s grasp for a second or a sol,
Defying that divine dividing line,
Moving from ephemeral to empyreal and back—
Or blasting instead beyond the zenith,
Away from pull of azure and leaf,
Into everlasting black—
Until perhaps they sail
To plains of red—
At rest and immortal in that place
Where infield clay meets regolith.

Standing at the plate
Is no time to ask or debate or question,
To worry about getting on base or going down looking—
But it’s the moment to wonder,
To look above,
Amazed
At how high the summit
We might climb
By seeing the prize further than the score;
At how much peace
Might be won
By reaching together to touch the face of War;
At how many strike-outs are undone
By one home run.

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