Hadfield Shows us Earth from Space

Sunrise is a sequin poised
on the bolt of silk that wraps the Earth
in blue. Islands are luminous snails

or exclamations marks
shouting ‘Look’. The Outback,
an abstract from the walls of The Tate.

Lights reveal where people live,
cobweb cities with roads that snake
or segregate the buildings into blocks.

Patterns emerge. Deserts, ridged and whorled
like human skin under a microscope.
Perspective shifts. Near and far are one.

His camera fails to catch
the grinding heat of sand, the tug
and pull of wind through hair

but shows the desolation of the Aral sea,
grit in the eyes of storms, our place
in a universe too vast to understand.

Looking up we see the astronaut
behind the lens. The scientist, teacher,
poet, most of all, the man

who searched within himself
to find the courage for his voyage
and then reached out to carry us along.

© Jan Harris

Chris Hadfield: 'Space was too good not to share it'

Jan’s work has appeared in Abridged, Ink Sweat and Tears, Ribbons, and A Night at the Movies, an e-book published by the Poetry Kit. Her proudest achievement is becoming a grandmother.

Care Plan For The Newly Bereaved

Wrap them in words
spun from fine Merino fleece
to ease the phantom ache when
a car door thuds in the night,
a greeting goes unanswered.

Observe their heart.
It flutters like discarded paper
and may tear at any moment.
Cup it in the palm of your hand
until rhythm is restored.

Bathe their eyes with beauty.
They are large with horror
and now they must gaze
no further than the blackbird
who waits on the doorstep for food.

Observe their vital signs
until the wound starts to heal.
Be gentle at all times.
These things are the least
and the most you can do.

© Jan Harris

Carol Thatcher: Tough and tearful week for Iron Lady's daughter

Jan’s work has recently appeared in Abridged Online, Universe Magazine, Ink Sweat and Tears, Bolts of Silk, Ribbons, FlashFlood, and A Night at the Movies, a Poetry Kit e-book.

Letter to Lyuba

Were you tired Lyuba, in need of rest,
the smallest of the mammoth herd, eyes set
on summer pastures far across the steppe?
Did you slide in the river mud and call
in panic for your mother’s help the day
you died? Was she desperate to free you?

Siberia’s short summer released you
from four hundred millenniums of rest.
Yuri Khudi discovered you that day
but feared the scent of underworld and set
a southern course. Left you behind, to call
a friend about the mammoth from the steppe.

While he was away Lyuba the steppe
gave you to another, who carried you
to Novyy Port to sell.  You won’t recall
your long wait by the store. No peaceful rest
for a baby snapped by cell phones and set
upon by dogs who chewed your ear that day.

Khudi saved you again that very day.
He sent your frozen carcass from the steppe,
to expert hands at Salekhard and set
the science world alight with news of you.
They stole your secrets, did they steal your rest
with their studies? I hope you don’t recall.

You are famous now Lyuba.  They called
you after Yuri Khudi’s wife.  These days
a multitude of people see you rest
in your showcase.  They crane their necks and step
on toes to marvel at one glimpse of you.
The past is here but is the future set?

Will mammoth live again? The scene is set
to make it so. Science can now recall
three quarters of your DNA. Will you
rise to your feet again one future day
to amble through the grasses of the steppe
or be forever sealed in time to rest?

And, set at large one momentous day,
would some instinctive recall of the steppe
cause you to mourn the silence of your rest?

© Jan Harris

Russian mammoth remains give glimmer of hope for cloning

Jan Harris lives in Nottinghamshire and writes poetry, flash fiction and short stories.  Her work has appeared in 14 Magazine, nth Position, Popshot, Mslexia and other places.