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!