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Showing posts with label space colonization. Show all posts
Showing posts with label space colonization. Show all posts

Friday, March 22, 2013

Voyager 1 [Week's News Poem, March 22, 2013]

Voyager 1 [Week's News Poem, March 22, 2013]

Artifacts slung possess
the night
catches artifice.

“Voyager 1, launched in 1977 to explore the outer planets, has passed into a new region on its way out of the solar system, scientists said on Wednesday.

The spacecraft, now more than 11 billion miles (18 billion km) away, detected two distinct and related changes in its environment on August 25, 2012, scientists write in paper to be published in Geophysical Research Letters and emailed to Reuters on Wednesday.”
—Irene Klotz, Reuters, CAPE CANAVERAL, Florida | Wed Mar 20, 2013 4:18pm EDT

“Closer scrutiny of radiation left over from the creation of the universe shows the Big Bang took place about 13.8 billion years ago, 100 million years earlier than previous estimates, scientists said on Thursday.
The findings are among the first results from analysis of data collected by the European Space Agency's Planck spacecraft, which is providing the most detailed look to date at the remnant microwave radiation that permeates the universe.”
—Irene Klotz, Reuters, CAPE CANAVERAL, Florida | Thu Mar 21, 2013 5:11pm EDT


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Friday, November 26, 2010

It's Stalemate, I Know It [Today's News Poem, November 26, 2010]

It's Stalemate, I Know It [Today's News Poem, November 26, 2010]

Hundreds of millions align in their places; as times may assign to the genius or fool, all the power of greatness, or humble position—depending on whimsy, on flimsy conditions of jealousy (crabs in a bucket, I say). And the goal of these capitols, capital, so forth; is play out the game where the values that vanquished reflections can stretch to the orbits of pleasure. The bodies of ice for example, or ore, or a planetoid fit for a home. By android and cyborg, by modified genes; or by robots (the horror!), they'll bring their religions to space and the culture they manage will change as the science of fiction's enacted—enthusiasts changing the realm of ideas into matter, or lifestyle at least. And if something so wondrous can come to fruition, perhaps in our atoms of fission we'll see our reflection—a creator that frowns, but has kept all the mansions in place for the living: the kings of the planet (and minions). This Heaven's immortal—outlasting the sun—and seductive; resistance is futile, innate. Disaster is nothing, defeat's just a game of the gene or idea; and victory's sweet, so I've heard from the fittest, but tying is lethal. The stalemate, the neutral, the kings on the board all alone with their pawns that can't move—that's the finish I think, and we'll orbit our selves, opposition repelling, attracting—both stalking and stalled by munition.

"It would be easy for investors to assume that Spain – like Greece, Ireland and Portugal, those other fiscal offenders on the fringe of the eurozone – is being punished in the bond markets because its public finances are out of control. Easy, but wrong, according to independent economists, market analysts and senior Spanish officials."
—Victor Mallet, The Financial Times, November 26 2010 20:18
http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/1632d946-f994-11df-9e29-00144feab49a.html#axzz16QLxwGRe

"Tension mounted Friday near a South Korean island bombarded this week by North Korea, as the North’s military again fired artillery, this time in what appeared to be a drill on its own territory. "
—MARTIN FACKLER, The New York Times, November 26, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/27/world/asia/27korea.htm

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Wednesday, August 25, 2010

One Final Blessing From Zeus [Today's News Poem, August 25, 2010]

One Final Blessing From Zeus [Today's News Poem, August 25, 2010]

Your jaws gape.
We will shut them.
You speak of love? We
act by gravity.
You question quills
the eldest

of worships
cast to open
mouths? Who pummeled you,
until you propped skins
on wood to block
our whimsy?

Your children
drowned. You fell to
mud but looked above
hoping we would claim
what seemed to sink
below ground.

You think time
is off? That flux
conforms to pacing?
Measurement of change
with memory
is folly.

You must chase
us and bottle
the water of clouds
for the plumbing
your new veins
will require.
You must drink your
ancient enemy;
become us. Only
then will we call
you master.

“More rain threatened Pakistan on Wednesday as aid workers pleaded for more help and additional helicopters to reach hundreds of thousands of people isolated by record floods.
The Pakistan Meteorological Department forecast thundershowers and occasional heavy rain into Friday in Punjab Province, Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa Province and Kashmir.
On Tuesday, the United Nations said 800,000 people could be reached only by air, and it called for 40 more helicopters from the international community to help take aid to people isolated by the flooding. ”
– Salman Masood, The New York Times, August 25, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/26/world/asia/26pstan.html?_r=1&hp

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Monday, May 03, 2010

Graveyard Launch to Heaven [Today's News Poem (Sonnet), May 3, 2010]

Graveyard Launch to Heaven [Today's News Poem (Sonnet), May 3, 2010]

“The superweeds could temper American agriculture’s enthusiasm for some genetically modified crops. Soybeans, corn and cotton that are engineered to survive spraying with Roundup have become standard in American fields. However, if Roundup doesn’t kill the weeds, farmers have little incentive to spend the extra money for the special seeds.”
– William Neuman and Andrew Pollack, The New York Times, May 3, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/04/business/energy-environment/04weed.html?hpw

The rats will feast on scraps—they'll lick their snouts;
And cats in turn will dine on rodent meat.
Yet both combine their gristle; ground about
In vats, encased as sausages we eat.
We've solved the puzzle-knot of roots with saws
We pulled from stones. A prophecy declared
A greater beast—not red in tooth and claw;
But rather just a midwife who's prepared
To cut the prize away from dying wombs.
The buffalo is white—she's made of bone
And frolics near the graves. The moon's in bloom.
The ragweed, squirrels and dogs collect near stones
That mark the victory of cunning weeds
That chase the moon with fuel the mother bleeds.



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