In Mexico, an astrobleme
unveils a catastrophic theme;
a tale of mass destruction on grand scale.
Of species, Earth lost three in four,
as dinosaurs were shown the door,
an impact formed their coffin's final nail.
For when a rock ten miles across
chose our world's path, that day to cross,
while doing fifty-thousand miles an hour,
there wasn't any place to hide,
no use at all to run inside;
that visit by an alien turned sour.
And so, the dinosaurs were gone,
but other beings carried on,
for life's resilient, in its many kinds.
Oh, how I'd love to get the chance
to see which creatures will advance,
and which ones, in the race, might fall behind.
Who knows what life forms might be found
when inter-stellar guests come 'round
to have a chat and share a cup of tea?
Perhaps a thousand years from now,
they might be greeted by a cow,
and humans could be nought but history.
For though we think we run the show,
we could well be the first to go
when nature's had enough of our contempt;
and that's the funny thing— it's true;
what hurts all life, harms mankind too,
but somehow humans think we are exempt.
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Author Notes
Our very own poet extraordinaire, Gloria, has been having way too much fun recently writing about one particular cow (well, actually a steer); so I thought if I worked one into my poem, some of her talent might be channeled. Alas, it seems I was wrong. :)
Image courtesy of NASA (public domain).
Today's word: astrobleme (n.) an eroded impact crater, caused by a meteorite or asteroid.
My much-treasured Christmas present for 2017 is a book by Paul Anthony Jones: "The cabinet of linguistic curiosities". Each page contains a descriptive story about some obscure or archaic word. It occurred to me it would be a fun exercise to try and write, each day, a poem featuring the "word of the day" from the book.
Thanks for reading.
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