A Poem for National Poetry Month: A Caution on Gathak'nor

 

A Caution on Gathak’nor

When I started to write this, I was thinking of writing a nonsense poem. Instead, I ended up with a cautionary tale inspired by speculation of what the poetry of the future might be about, if it followed old Earth patterns of verse, and the storytelling tradition—and by the idea that not all the worlds humanity reaches will be friendly and benign, even if they look habitable. This verse was written on April 15, 2017, to celebrate National Poetry Month, and as the April 15 entry for Another 365 Days of Poetry.

I spasmed in the Gathak’nor

and tumbled down the hill.

In the wake of dandelions,

the bluebells seemed to spill

clouds of pus and whitened bone,

as I found the river bank

and tumbled o’er the brink

into a torrid torrent rank

and, in case you’re wond’ring,

why I was walking Gathak’nor,

when the planet is forbidden

and will remain so evermore,

t’is because I found a signal,

something faint that called,

and I rode the beacon down

and landed on a world

that used to be a colony

before its nature true

was clear

to those who tried to call it home,

as their lives it tried to steal,

and the whole damned world’s a death trap,

nasty to the core,

but I found the signal and ended it,

and ended lives that were no more,

for they had ceased to live

within months of landing there,

and then I left the site a-running,

fleeing like a hare,

hoping to make the shuttle

that I’d ‘borrowed’ for the trip,

and get back to the starship

before from its orbit it did slip,

but soon my side was stitching

and my legs refused to work

so my headlong flight

became a slow and stupid walk,

and then the spasms came,

and I fell into the creek

and I’d have joined the murky torrent,

but for the protocols I’d rigged,

and now I’m back aboard the ship,

in isolation while they purge

every particle of taint

that through my blood and bones does surge,

for the world of Gathak’nor

is more toxic than they say,

and those who fall within its atmosphere

hardly ever get away.

(Copyright, C.M. Simpson, April 15, 2017)