Penciled Ponderings Poem by Harley White

Midst photographs that ‘changed the world'
I spied the Nebula Pencil
with linear shape wooden burled
evoking writing utensil.

This filament cloud far-ranging
in Vela ‘Sails' constellation,
said the caption, showed ‘world changing'
since explosive star creation.

But as more pictures were perused
I grew disheartened with sadness
sinking into despair, bemused
by our species' ways of madness.

Diversified illustrations
of deeds historic or horrid
depicted human relations
shockingly callous to torrid.

My spirits plunged in grief profound
when I saw a starving child slumped
emaciated to the ground
where nearby vulture waited humped.

The awful vision held me tranced
in tragedy of that being
immortalized by shutter's glance
for future beholders' seeing.

Still by atrocity haunted
I turned my attention away
from those impressions that taunted
what flowery words I would say.

As tears welled up, I raised my gaze
to the firmament overhead
whelming myself in cosmic maze
where starry splendors round me spread.

An author's tool seemed apropos
for scripting sidereal piece
of an empyrean tableau,
granting troubles a brief surcease.

Pencils enjoy a cherished place
as symbol of creative muse.
Thus, finding one in outer space
was lyric task I had to choose.

Part of supernova shock wave,
NGC Two Seven Three Six
has remnants from the burst that gave
it wispy aspect to transfix

of a rippled gaseous sheet
that's undulating threadily
and from the blast's initial heat
has been cooling down steadily.

A picture's worth a thousand words
while the pen is mighty as well,
whether one minds the ‘rule of thirds'
or composes a villanelle.

As poets may versify thought,
photographs images capture.
Both arts our humanness have wrought
from deepest despair to rapture.

This glowing formation highlights,
in my view, an essential goal
I wish to keep within my sights—
to awaken the heart and soul.

The heavens enhance awareness
plus make us perceive our smallness,
perchance in grasping life's rareness
or sensing the utter allness.

We're lent this earth to wander on
through mortal lives whence home is based.
Wisdom abounds to ponder on
yet our surroundings we lay waste,

where trills the wondrous whippoorwill
from sunsets gold to coral dawns
and blushing lady's slippers still
enchant the afternoons of fauns.

How can good fortune's smile remain
on land and sea, o'er hill and dale,
when mankind loses touch humane,
with appetites beyond the pale?

Neither can I be reconciled
by mollifying phrases mild
to damage done in nature's wild,
nor evermore forget that child.