6th August 2005


A capsule of lighted hope lay in the deep black depths,
seven Russian submariners trapped on the Pacific floor.
Although “satisfactory” in their red striped white sub,
freeze as only hours of oxygen remain. Kursk memories

flood Moscow, but she pleads straight away for US
and UK Super Scorpios who help raise the vessel to rescue
depth – averting another disaster. But no one can help
the Discovery’s seven in their cocoon of light circling

our world in un-ending space. They wait in zero gravity,
remove foam chips, listen to Beatles and pray. The world held
a collective breath before touchdown as NASA remembered
the awesome, fiery power of Columbia’s broken tile.



Frances Macaulay Forde © 2006

Hi Frances

This is the first poem I have ever read of yours, and to be honest if took a couple of run throughs to fully understand it as a significant piece of work.

It reminded me of when i took 'A' level English Lang LIt. having read TS Eliots 'The Buriel of The Dead'.

Your work came accross showing the abserdity of mankind. We fight each other yet in the face of adversty unite at thedrop of a hat. All these rationals at the opposite end of the spectrum. This spectrum refers to the sky and the emotion that vary from one end and back again.


I enjoyed it more with each read

Cheers

Phil