‘The Planetary Procession’ by John Tuttle

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Centered in our island universe
Sits the galactic star enthroned
A sun to our own world
Yet a star insignificant
In the grandest of designs.

During time and life’s evolution
Nine celestial bodies, only eight at times
Complete their revolutions
Around a dying ball of plasma
Emitting a luster all search for.

An infant in comparison
To its planetary neighbors
Mercury’s mercurial temperatures
Differ greatly
Between day and night.

Mercury’s adjacent sister
The venomous Venus
Named after goddess of love
With sulfuric acid for rain
And Venusian volcanism on which to stand.

Then there’s our own Earth
With its green pastures,
Waters azure and Navy blue,
Its earthly odors, worldly things,
And lifeforms of great array.

The Bringer of War is up
Stained scarlet as of blood
Marred with mares nd marks
Intriguing us for decades,
Mars who was the lover of Venus.

Black holes, white holes,
Dark energy and light
The traveler passes
Hoping not to be guided astray
Even by a field of asteroids.

Now come giant globes of gas
The Jovians they are named
And Jupiter is their king
With a jovial size himself
As the cosmos expands, his eye shrinks.

Saturn’s satire is a halo
But it winds around the waist.
Called ‘lord of the rings’ by some
Saturn is saturated in hydrogen
Gravity keeping the sphere inflated.

Uranus ranks high among the names
That bring laughter to children
When bodily urges are on the mind.
Ice breaking, ground shattering
Revealing the sun as true.

As inept as Neptune may be
Spinnign upon its messed-up axis
It may also be home
To diamond-crystal rain
Enough to make anyone quite rich.

Poor little Pluto, so planate and puny
‘Tis neither giant nor gaseous.
Like an ominous variable
“Planet X” it had been dubbed
Yet its definition always varies.

Dark matter one week
But once finally spotted
A definite planet was made out
Then reclassified a dwarf the next
Now back to “planetoid,” not very unique.

We wonder how they got there
What roles they still have to play
Or dare to think they’re like fingerprints
Something left behind after fowl play
Or a Master’s hand painting all the day.

Questions spin around in my head
Much as the planets around their sun or is it their father?
There are similar galaxies out there
Filled with both their stars
And their unnamed pedestrians.

We are not alone.

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