(Apollo 11 moon shot)
Cartridge to pierce the heart of darkness - there
In the octave of innocent vision.
Streaming, white-gilled with anticipation,
While time holding each heart-beat heartens
To the impending blast-off: a cherry
In a brandy its flame will ball! -- But now
It stands in commentator light wearing
Its obedience like a daughter: a
Time for freedom, till goldfish-finned it swims
Into waters full of the odour of
A moon and stars! -- where humanity's pulse
Will lead, will echo within the space suits
Of three men walking on the moon's surface:
A history away from earth's Adam.
When I sent this poem to NASA via their web-site, on the occasion of the anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon shot, I received the following terse reply: "We don't buy poems."