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Ahlberg, Allan | Ahvenjärvi, Juhani | Angelou, Maya | Bakhtiar, Shireen | Beatty, Paul | Boland, Eavan | Brooks, Gwendolyn | Brown, Sterling | Bryant, Dana | Chapman, Tracy | Clifton Read, Lucile | Coleman, Anita Scott | Coleman, Wanda | Cullun, Countee | Dashiell, J.M. | Dove, Rita | Dylan, Bob | Evans, Mari | Gaines, Reg E. | Giovanni, Nikki | Goldbarth, Albert | Harper, Michael | Hayden, Chris | Hayden, Robert | Jordan, June | Lorde, Audre | Madhubuti, Haki R. | Mc Kenty, Bob | Moore, Richard | Reed, Ishmael | Salt'n'Pepa | Sayar, Keyvan | Scott-Heron, Gill | Shakur, Tupac | Sinervo, Helena | Stevens, Cat | Teasdale, Sarah | The Sugarhill Gang | Walcott, Derek | Walker, Alice | Walker, Margaret | Williams, Saul | Wyclef Jean | Young, Al
Moore, Richard
Telescopes
Stupendous cosmic sneeze
of fleeing galaxies,
a universe expanding
past human understanding,
yet seemingly designed
to picture man's own mind
that, also losing heart,
expands and flies apart:
to find out what you're hinting,
centuries we've been squinting
through telescopes that told,
well, what? You're big; you're old;
and to complete the fable,
desperately unstable.
It's time for something new,
maybe, to glimpse you through:
so new it may seem nutty,
like, say, a lump of putty —
the putty we are made of,
nothing to be afraid of.
It's like the world one savors,
mornings, of breakfast flavors.
By God, we'll have a winner:
Universe goes with dinner.
The meal's ready for fixing.
Get out your spoons, start mixing!
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