Space can mean many things. It could be the distance between two things, two points, to people. It could be an unoccupied area. It could also be the place outside the earth where there is no gravity pulling us down. Space is characterized by emptiness and distance from something. The outer space is a mysterious part of the universe for us humans and curious scientists have made a way to explore this unknown area. Probes are sent to know what is out there and take pictures for us to see from afar. Despite being so far and so mysterious, humans still want to venture into the unknown.<\/p>\n
Curious? Explore more mysterious topics in written poetry here at 1Love Poems.<\/p>\n
But Outer Space – Poem by Robert Frost<\/p>\n
But outer Space,
\nAt least this far,
\nFor all the fuss
\nOf the populace
\nStays more popular
\nThan populous<\/p>\n
The Space Heater – Poem by Sharon Olds<\/p>\n
On the then-below-zero day, it was on,
\nnear the patients’ chair, the old heater
\nkept by the analyst’s couch, at the end,
\nlike the infant’s headstone that was added near the foot
\nof my father’s grave. And it was hot, with the almost
\nlaughing satire of a fire’s heat,
\nthe little coils like hairs in Hell.
\nAnd it was making a group of sick noises-
\nI wanted the doctor to turn it off
\nbut I couldn’t seem to ask, so I just
\nstared, but it did not budge. The doctor
\nturned his heavy, soft palm
\noutward, toward me, inviting me to speak, I
\nsaid, “If you’re cold-are you cold? But if it’s on
\nfor me…” He held his palm out toward me,
\nI tried to ask, but I only muttered,
\nbut he said, “Of course,” as if I had asked,
\nand he stood up and approached the heater, and then
\nstood on one foot, and threw himself
\ntoward the wall with one hand, and with the other hand
\nreached down, behind the couch, to pull
\nthe plug out. I looked away,
\nI had not known he would have to bend
\nlike that. And I was so moved, that he
\nwould act undignified, to help me,
\nthat I cried, not trying to stop, but as if
\nthe moans made sentences which bore
\nsome human message. If he would cast himself toward the
\noutlet for me, as if bending with me in my old
\nshame and horror, then I would rest
\non his art-and the heater purred, like a creature
\nor the familiar of a creature, or the child of a familiar,
\nthe father of a child, the spirit of a father,
\nthe healing of a spirit, the vision of healing,
\nthe heat of vision, the power of heat,
\nthe pleasure of power.<\/p>\n
Written On A Blank Space – Poem by John Keats<\/p>\n
This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
\nThe honied lines so freshly interlace,
\nTo keep the reader in so sweet a place,
\nSo that he here and there full-hearted stops;
\nAnd oftentimes he feels the dewy drops
\nCome cool and suddenly against his face,
\nAnd, by the wandering melody, may trace
\nWhich way the tender-legged linnet hops.
\nOh! what a power has white Simplicity!
\nWhat mighty power has this gentle story!
\nI, that do ever feel athirst for glory,
\nCould at this moment be content to lie
\nMeekly upon the grass, as those whose sobbings
\nWere heard of none beside the mournful robins.<\/p>\n
My Space – Poem by Ernestine Northover<\/p>\n
You entered my space
\nThe space that was mine alone
\nIt was my cocoon
\nI felt safe there.
\nThen you thundered in and somehow took over.
\nI treasured my space, it was only for me.
\nYou came and shook my fragile walls, shattered my peace,
\nDisturbed my equilibrium.
\nNow my space isn’t my space anymore.
\nBut you gave me something that made my space obsolete,
\nYou gave me your love.<\/p>\n
Prelude To Space – Poem by Clive Staples Lewis<\/p>\n
An Epithaliamium
\nSo Man, grown vigorous now,
\nHolds himself ripe to breed,
\nDaily devises how
\nTo ejaculate his seed
\nAnd boldly fertilize
\nThe black womb of the unconsenting skies.
\nSome now alive expect
\n(I am told) to see the large,
\nSteel member grow erect,
\nTurgid with the fierce charge
\nOf our whole planet’s skill,
\nCourage, wealth, knowledge, concentrated will,
\nStraining with lust to stamp
\nOur likeness on the abyss-
\nBombs, gallows, Belsen camp,
\nPox, polio, Thais’ kiss
\nOr Judas, Moloch’s fires
\nAnd Torquemada’s (sons resemble sires).
\nShall we, when the grim shape
\nRoars upward, dance and sing?
\nYes: if we honour rape,
\nIf we take pride to Ring
\nSo bountifully on space
\nThe sperm of our long woes, our large disgrace.<\/p>\n
The Violent Space\u00a0 – Poem by Etheridge Knight<\/p>\n
Exchange in greed the ungraceful signs. Thrust
\nThe thick notes between green apple breasts.
\nThen the shadow of the devil descends,
\nThe violent space cries and angel eyes,
\nLarge and dark, retreat in innocence and in ice.
\n(Run sister run\u2014the Bugga man comes!)
\nThe violent space cries silently,
\nLike you cried wide years ago
\nIn another space, speckled by the sun
\nAnd the leaves of a green plum tree,
\nAnd you were stung
\nBy a red wasp and we flew home.
\n(Run sister run\u2014the Bugga man comes!)
\nWell, hell, lil sis, wasps still sting.
\nYou are all of seventeen and as alone now
\nIn your pain as you were with the sting
\nOn your brow.
\nWell, shit. lil sis, here we are:
\nYou and I and this poem.
\nAnd what should I do? should I squat
\nIn the dust and make strange markings on the ground?
\nShall I chant a spell to drive the demon away?
\n(Run sister run\u2014the Bugga man comes!)
\nIn the beginning you were the Virgin Mary,
\nAnd you are the Virgin Mary now.
\nBut somewhere between Nazareth and Bethlehem
\nYou lost your name in the nameless void.
\n‘O Mary don’t you weep don’t you moan’
\nO Mary shake your butt to the violent juke,
\nAbsord the demon puke and watch the whites eyes pop,
\n(Run sister run\u2014the Bugga man comes!)
\nAnd what do I do. I boil my tears in a twisted spoon
\nAnd dance like an angel on the point of a needle.
\nI sit counting syllables like Midas gold.
\nI am not bold. I cannot yet take hold of the demon
\nAnd lift his weight from you black belly,
\nSo I grab the air and sing my song.
\n(But the air cannot stand my singing long.)<\/p>\n
Source: Poemhunter
\nhttps:\/\/www.poemhunter.com\/<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Space can mean many things. It could be the distance between two things, two points, to people. It could be an unoccupied area. It could also be the place outside the earth where there is no gravity pulling us down. Space is characterized by emptiness and distance from something. The outer space is a mysterious […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":13801,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1345],"tags":[37],"class_list":["post-8776","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poems","tag-featured"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8776","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8776"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8776\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/13801"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8776"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8776"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8776"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}