In Which I Wish Atlantis FSM Speed (And Pay No Attention To The Tears)

Few things on earth excite me like a launch
Of big tin cans of people into space.
And often many tissues, for to staunch
My tears are needed; I screw up my face
And cry in pride and awe (and jealousy).
Today's was diff'rent, though; there's only two
More shuttle missions left, then we will be
A-paying fares to Russia. I am blue
E'en as I wonder with dear IsoBan
How can the generation who first tried
Not join me in deploring this odd con,
This bait-and-switch. Manned space travel has died
In my homeland, and with it my pastime:
"Winos For Souyeuz" won't be fun to rhyme.

In Which I Press My Nose Against More Virtual Glass

Bus-envy is not common, at least not
Amongst the saner people whom I know.
I would include myself within that lot,
Except today, when gladly I would go
And squeeze myself on board Bus Number Three
(Or One: I won't play fav'rites), with my friends
A-touring Kennedy Space Center. See,
Another NASA Tweetup's on again!
And Summer Ash and Kelly Hickman are
Both kickin' it with Miles O'Brien's crew
And many other Space Tweeps. I am far
Away, but there in spirits, there with you.
Winos for NASA, here's to you: clink clink.
And FSMspeed to Atlantis! Drink!

In Which I'm Early To Rise To Watch Endeavor Fly

Were I allowed, I'd cry into my wine
Tonight, but I'm a shift worker who must
Eschew the alchol ere work. That line
I'm tempted, though, to cross tonight. It's just --
Tonight's the last night shuttle launch, which means
We may not have a chance like this again.
I've watched the shuttle's launches since my teens
(Though often had to cheat to do so when
They went up on a school night). Just five left
All told, and we've got nothing to replace
This program. When it's done we'll be bereft
Of any means to send men into space.
There've been a lot of promises -- hot air
So far. When did we lose our nerve? I care!

Challenger: Twenty Four Years Later

'Twas twenty years and four, this very morn

That Angie walked into our band classroom,

A note in hand, a tearful face to warn

Us that the news she brought was of some doom.

"The Challenger blew up" is what it said,

Her note. Our teacher gravely sent us on:

The library had TVs. All were dead.

That cloud - you know it well - said they were gone

E'en more than any anchorman's sad voice.

I still watch ev'ry launch with a tight chest -

Full knowing I could spare myself. My choice,

Though is to watch. This program's been our best

In my lifetime, though it went up in smoke

That day in Florida, when my heart broke.

In Which I Try Not To Fret Over The Constellation Program's Fate

I'm trying hard today not to lose heart,
As rumors fly: a big dream's for the axe
Within the fed'ral budget. Many smart
And plugged-in people say, though, to relax.
The Constellation program's under threat
But it's an empty one, for Congress won't
Choke off that NASA money, not just yet,
That goes into so many districts. Don't
Believe that I'll be sanguine, knowing same,
Although venality's a sure, sure thing
On which to bet. I just think that it's lame
Just as we've found there's water there, we swing
Back to debating what the moon is worth.
Do babies e'er debate the cons of birth?

In Which I Commemorate A Very Important Nap

The ISS oft makes me crane my neck
To see it passing overhead at dawn
Or dusk. But now up there upon one deck
A new experiment is going on
Combining the two things I love the most
(That's space and entomology if I've
Not been too clear on this here blog)! A toast:
To Butterflies in Space! Well may they thrive!
And just today a caterpillar formed
A crysalis, the first in micro-gee!
It's been many a day since news has warmed
My heart as this has. They could hear my squee
From orbit, I am sure. And now we wait
To see the butterfly ere it's too late.

In Which A Month Passes

Today's the first when I have thought, in truth
Of skipping on the sonnet-writing. Why?
Well, Twitter's like a smile with no front tooth
Since one of us was lost. I look and cry
Whene'er something reminds me that he's gone.
Today it was the shuttle launch. I gawk
At ev'ry one and know the day will dawn
When up will go the last of them. Such talk
Was part of what I shared with Mac - we feared
The space program had peaked and would decline
Through politics and budget cuts. I cheered
To see Atlantis launch, was feeling fine,
But then, I don't know why, it hit me square:
A month has passed since he left us. Not fair.

BONUS SONNET: Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, STS-128

I'm sorry, but tonight I started late.

I left uncorking off until the hold

For our Discovery's liftoff. O Kate,

When will you learn that to propitiate

That dumb jock, Thor, you have to start off right

When Space Flight Now begins cov'ring it live?

'Twas clear he liked the asti, nice and light

And bubbly-sweet, like mead. Now I contrive

To be better prepared for our next try:

I'll stick to asti since I've got a lot.

You folk, try others. We'll yet see her fly

(This time sans bat). Let's give it all we've got.

Winos for NASA, now's our time to shine!

Tomorrow night, our efforts must combine!

All Good Things Come To Those Who Wait

Today Endeavor finally took off!

A perfect launch that almost made me cry

(But as we know, and yes, you all may scoff

I often seem to have caught in my eye

Particulates at launch time, causing tears).

Today was to be my first meet for drinks

With Sigler, yes, the FDO of fears

Both great and small. But Friday now, methinks

Is when that's to occur. I am content

To wait 'til then. A party's in the works:

Scott Sigler, others too, who will have spent

Some days in Laramie, diligent as clerks

At The Launch Pad, learning space science and

Hobnobbing with Phil Plait and Haldeman.

Safety First: Or Why I Never Bitch When We Call A Hydrogen Halt

Sometimes the smallest things can cause the worst
Of problems, when they leak from where they ought
Rather than vent, controlled - such as the first
Of all the elements. Lest you forgot,
That's Hydrogen, the smallest, simplest one,
But one that can explode with quite a bang
(As when the Hindenburg came quite undone).
I'm glad, therefore, that NASA's ground crew gang
Discovered on Endeavor such a leak
As paused Discovery some months ago
Until all was put right. Yeah it's some streak
Of luck we're having, but it must be so.
Th'alternatives are not to be allowed:
Retreat or tragedy? Not what we've vowed.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Share My Awe At A Student Filmmaker

The other day, while I was geeking out

On Herschel/Planck's launch, and on Atlantis'

Fine work on Hubble, also did I shout

My love of Henry Purcell and of bits

Of choral, churchy music that he wrote.

Conflated in my mind at once were these.

I said so, then I casually did float

The notion that a mash of them would please.

Brent Weichsel, budding auteur, took the dare,

And tossed off this as quick as kiss-my-hand.

You might well profit from his other fare.

His latest, Battle Not is soon to land

Upon his site and elsewhere. I am sure

His name and work won't too long be obscure.

Yes, Yes, I Am Both A Hubble-Hugger And A Shuttle Shill

Mollosid-free, Atlantis is aloft!
Because of this, space-junkies still may hope
For more of the eye-candy that, so oft
We've gotten from the Hubble telescope,
We'd cry out foul were our supply to stop.
But more than pretty pictures come from there;
Through Hubble we have peered far back in time
As far as 13 billion years, to where
(And when) it all began. She's past her prime
Our Hubble, but once this trip's complete
She'll show us even more, at wavelengths we
Have never seen. It will be no mean feat
To upgrade it. "More like brain surgery"
Than a construction job, we're told. And this
In weightless space! May nothing go amiss!

Who They Jivin' With That Cosmic Debris?

I'm no economist, nor engineer,
But something in the skies torments my brain:
While it's a given now that with the sheer
Amount of stuff we've launched outside our plane,
A lot of paths will cross in orbit, there.
But lately it just seems that there's too much,
Too many things to track; it turns my hair
Pure white to contemplate. It seems, as such
It might be time to start to do more than
Just bob and weave our stations, shuttles out
Of harm's way when collision threatens. Can
We not begin at least to think about
Removing at least some of it? Or - shock!
Designing craft that throw off much less schlock?

BONUS SONNET: The Bat Of Discovery

Another bat has tried to hitch a lift
Aboard Discovery to outer space.
Perhaps he's seen that show "Tripping the Rift"
Too many times and hopes now to embrace
The Terry Farrel character? Or do
Bats have a mission unbeknownst to man
To boldly go to make a bat debut
Beyond our atmosphere? What's its game plan?
More likely he just thought a shuttle tank
A likely spot for napping, nice and safe.
Whate'er his reason, I'd sure like to thank
Him for the entertainment. This small waif
Stayed on the shuttle till its full lift-off.
To this intrepid soul, my hat I doff!