[stylist] Poem: Autumn plans

[Jacobson, Shawn D]

I just got a chance to read this for the first time.

Wow!  A lot there.

Shawn

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Jackie Williams via stylist
Sent: Friday, November 21, 2014 1:14 PM
To: 'Chelsea Cook'; 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] Poem: Autumn plans

Chelsea,
I have read this several times, and find it difficult to critique. It is full of philosophy, details of space travel, accomplishments, and the aside to the  seasons that have inspired you in differing ways.
It is certainly a marathon of spirit and desire to explore the beyond.
Several questions. Your name is female, but you refer to yourself as a male once in the poem. Clarification?
You must be a follower of Carl Sagan who remains one of my heroes. Also, I would imagine that you are moved by the landing of the German's Rosetta stone on the comet.
You are prescient, and a good writer. I also think it could be other than a narrative poem, as suggested by Chris.
Keep it up. So interesting.

Jackie 

Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delmore Schwartz	 


-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Chelsea Cook via stylist
Sent: Sunday, November 16, 2014 9:35 AM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] Poem: Autumn plans

Hi Stylist,

Been absolutely loving the poetry presented on this list. Whether it was intentional or not, I noticed the fall theme and have decided to add my own bit of work. This was written a few falls ago and is intentionally long, so stay with it and hope you enjoy. 

Chelsea

Autumn Plans


The steppe night was cold.
Summer had ended long ago.
But at 19:29:
Heat rose.
The world lit up
And was changed forever
As something other than the Moon
Orbited.

The beeping instilled fear in a nation,
And hope in a boy,
Many times over.
This mining lad knew he could get out,
Knew he could leap higher and higher, further and further, Miles and miles into the cold, blue sky.

A cadet from my hometown,
Lined up for formation,
Just a few short years later
Flight: They would always call him.
He would launch monkeys, and then men,
To the boundaries, and beyond
To the satellite we always hoped to reach.
He wrote the books that governed when to go and when to stay.
Still in use, when we wish to journey,
Miles and miles into the cold, blue sky.

I knew nothing of these men when starting out, My studies in astronomy.
I just knew: I had to go to the stars.
Up there was where
I was meant to be.

So every year started the same:
New books, new knowledge,
Horizons just yearning to be surpassed.
Calling to me: Push the edge of the envelope.
Hot chocolate after school,
A warm place to work.

Once, I studied under quilts and darkness, Soaking up all a year ahead, I knew these books held secrets, That I needed to uncover.
The thrill of privileged knowledge
Never went away.

Next time the leaves turned orange,
I was ready with my own story.
Well on its way,
New ideas germinating,
Momentum spurring me on
Writing into the night
About others: Two friends
Outcasts
Blasting off for
Miles and miles into the cold, blue sky.

Plots turned, years rotated.
Three times straight,
First month, when the winds started blowing, The First Sergeant and I would go to the field, To perceive through water As thunder roared and metal rocketed, And relics claimed their place on the line Having seen days where, for friend or foe, They would go Miles and miles into the cold, blue sky.

I knew what happened,
In terms of drag, design,
Fuel and flow,
Wing and weapon,
Rolls and Royce.
When the equations came fast and furious, I was not afraid.
I greeted old friends.
I shook hands with one of them,
>From the days of a season long ago,
Where I had first heard it
Used to prove a boy's innocence,
It contained a constant
Whose value I wished to defy.
Escaping, reversing direction:
Miles and miles into the cold, blue sky.

For centuries journeys have occurred,
Some prodded by gold,
Some by blood,
And some kept alive by desire.

None were easy ...

I was forced to wait.
Walk in the woods
Not look under every stone
Take a path in chains.

I fought every step.
Yearning to clamber, and to climb
And stand on top of a mountain.
Level ground has never suited
The one who used to
Study under covers,
And ask people to speak in same tongues.

Travel for many has been constant,
Always moving.
Always flying.
Always voyaging.
For some by land,
And then by sea,
By air was next,
And once the thermals mastered we,
Altitude was the only thing left:
Some went
Miles and miles into the cold, blue sky.

The questions came before the footsteps.
What is out there?
Who can we meet
When we venture to the back of the beyond?
What is the world made of?
Next corner: Surprise me.

These evolve with the millennia,
Becoming more complex in the web we weave But they must be answered Before we leave.

For people of the Dark Ages,
Could not imagine:
Clouded and content to let the mysteries stay unsolved And the puzzles unfinished.

Biggest question: What now do we prepare for?
There must be something.
Complacency, routine, statics.
Dangerous words!
Never let the spirit go.
Or fade away into the gray
Of a different season, a different era,
Keep the blaze a-burning,
If not for you, then those who come after.
And if you depart, take heed of us who got you there,
Remember: We all want to reach
Miles and miles into the cold, blue sky.

When the leaves again turned maroon,
In a year whose factors are never odd,
I joined the drill field,
The stone buildings,
The legacy
Of those who came before.
But I am simply in perpetual autumn.
Winter is where I make my mark.
The volumes piled high around me,
The nights crafting solutions,
Or tramping out to where light cannot reach Every time I hear and feel Skipper fire, I think of who built her, And he is inside me.
With the same dream.

I have sat humbly in that cadet's chair, Knowing what I must do to get back To the hot, Texas plain.

I've found my crew and must bring them together:
One better at math than I,
One rearranging the bytes and transistors, One training us all, Some gathering food, others data, All a flurry of harvesting.

And the celebration will come.

Some will be jealous, most happy.
All wanting to hear when we reach zero,
The final hour: We are up again.
Prime Crew.

You work up to the left-hand seat.
It is a life struggle.
But to get there ...
Is worth it; Like no other feeling.
I will know when I'm ready.
Will I return?
Maybe.

All the falls, all the beginnings, all the new ideas.
Will pay off.
Oxygen, pressure, water, food,
All OK by Surgeon and EECOM.
The ghost of the cadet I can hear from the tower:
"Go, no-go.  We are go for launch!"

And then a force,
Like so many others,
Will act on us all:
Pushing, fighting,
And winning.
Sending me,
Miles and miles into the cold, blue sky.
Chelsea cook: September 29, 2011

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