ISON Approaching…



Still not a naked eye sight, but brightening,

Dawn-dewed telescopes reveal your tail

Stretching out at last: a narrow Maglite beam

Pointing back towards the Oort.

Your head glows a Wicked emerald green,

Shining like a shard of Kryptonite

Heading for the heart of the Sun,

And every clear morning now, as the eastern sky lightens

With the violet blush of dawn, more and more eyes

Swing towards you, searching for you

In the spilled salt star-field behind

The ruddy spark of Mars,

A whispered “Yes!” celebrating each success…



Inevitably your Green Lantern light

Has sent the crazies scuttling out

From under their cyber-stones like woodlice.

Cowering from chemtrail criss-crossed skies,

Hidden in the Bat Caves of their parents’ basements,

Wannabe Muldurs tap away on keyboards beneath

Faded “The Truth Is Out There” posters,

Swamping YouTube with their deluded diarrhoea,

Desperate to generate and spread fear

With tall tales of “ISON Debris Hitting Earth NOW!”



This Comet Craziness is nothing new, it’s true.

In 1910, when Halley’s cyanide-laced tail

Tenderly brushed Earth’s face

Moustache-twirling conmen made fortunes

Selling comet pills and “Are you my mummy?” gas masks

To the frightened and naïve who believed

What they read in newspaper and shop window ads,

As others blew whistles to scare the comet away.



A century later have we finally learned to stop fearing

And love these icy visitors from the depths of the Dark?

No. Today, ignoring the dozens of pixellated portraits

Spacecraft have taken of these icy visitors,

The internet-infesting halfwit hordes scream their lies

At the sky louder than ever. No fantasy is too extreme.

Shouting “Alert! ISON is not a comet!”,

Preppers, ‘Pastors’ and ‘Professors’ rant and rave about grave dangers

From gigantic sparks arcing between you

And the Sun; wonder why Mars has suddenly grown

A coma of its own after its Close Encounter of the Faraway Kind

With you and your poisonous tail, which,

They are convinced, is trailing captured Doomsday asteroids

Like tin cans tied to a newly-wed bride and grooms’ car.



Concealed behind their Anonymous masks

They breathlessly ask “Is Comet ISON Nibiru?”

Others insist “It’s Wormwood!” or “a fleet of UFOs!”,

Shamelessly and shamefully regurgitating

The same BS they spread when Elenin passed this way

And their make believe Mayan calendars ran out,

Conveniently forgetting how those shouted predictions

Of Armageddon failed to come true…



Oblivious to it all you continue your fall towards the Sun,

Bathing in its increasingly golden light,

Basking in a delicious thawing warmth

You’ve never felt before.

Mars is far behind you now;

The CCD eyes of Earth’s invasion fleet of orbiters

And rovers have swung away from you,

Surrendering you to the relentless gaze

Of the skywatchers on the blue-green star

Shining off to Sol’s side,

Standing in their gardens and fields before sunrise,

Desperate for our first sight of you…


© Stuart Atkinson 2013

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