.

Spacewalk

Around earth’s blue-white marble sphere
the black is ancient, soundless, near;
starry webs burn in dawnlike glare.

A rhythm, the unending drone
of the star-work being done
beats in my brain. I am alone.

Sun rounds the planet. Heatless light
absolute cold cannot ignite
coats my suit’s skin in polar white.

I drift away. Now I observe
my spacecraft hug earth’s crescent curve.
My line winds slowly out. My nerve

fails—my umbilic cord snaps taut.
I clutch my jetpack, breathe, my throat
gulping like some night creature caught.

I saw myself cut, floating free.
2001: A Space Odyssey
planted that boyhood fear in me.

It drove me skyward, into space.
Now trained, methodical, I face
my mission in a placeless place.

Below, air fills each living lung.
Newborns cry; lovers’ songs are sung.
Bottled breath bubbles on my tongue.

Leathery Andean terrain
passes, and a white hurricane
like lather down a swirling drain.

The Amazon, a veined green leaf,
pours brown streams off the coastal shelf.
Earth is my home. I’ve had enough

of space where rocks fly bullet-black,
vampiric vacuum sucks each crack.
My silver tether tugs me back.

I hunch crushed in my fetal berth,
plummeting, flaming, earth to earth,
a tunnel I descend like birth.

Ocean laps like a mother’s love.
My hatch flips up; numb hands remove
my helmet. Lugged with weight, I heave

my head toward light as from a well.
Clear sky blue as a bird’s eggshell
blurs the black smoke-trail where I fell.

Face damp with tingling spray, I stare
across a gull-flocked seascape where
shiny fish dart and ships appear,

as if I called life, kind by kind,
to teem the world I left behind,
the world that I walked space to find.

.

.

Carey Jobe is a retired attorney.  His work has recently appeared in The Orchards Poetry Journal, The Lyric, The Road Not Taken, Sparks of Calliope, and The Chained Muse.  A native Tennessean, he now lives and writes near Tallahassee, Florida.

NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets.

The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.

 

***Read Our Comments Policy Here***

 

4 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    This poem is like an old TV series from long ago, “You are There,” hosted by Walter Cronkite. Great job of creative imagery. The rhymes in triplicate seemed to add to the intense feelings provided the reader. “2001: A Space Odyssey” only slightly broke the rhythm and perhaps was the best way to fit it into the octosyllabic poem.

    Reply
    • Carey Jobe

      Thanks, Roy. I took some liberties with the meter and rhyme scheme to try and create various effects. You’re right. No way to shorten the movie title–had to make one iamb an anapest to fit it in. My thought was that the extra syllable would make the line run more quickly, emphasizing the breathlessness the character is experiencing. Or at least I hope it does!

      Reply
  2. Cynthia L Erlandson

    This is truly mesmerizing, Carey! Its marvelous descriptions of not only the surrounding atmosphere, but the sensations and the awe of the astronaut, make it almost impossible to believe that this isn’t a first-person account (?)

    “A placeless place”; “vampiric vacuum”‘ “a white hurricane like lather down a swirling drain”, and other phrases are exquisite. “Fetal berth”/ “descend like birth” is ingenious. And the final verse is a profound conclusion.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.