Awen Online Issue 11


by David Edwards

Forgotten, they
outnumber Remembered
Pasts by multitudes of no size,
yet vast

   Another World
      by DJ Tyrer

Pluto doesn't exist here
But Vulcan circles the sun
Enticing aether voyagers
To sail solar winds
Past Mercury's orbit
To the unbearable heat
Of that distant world

      Voyage to Venus
      Terrible lizards roaming
      Alien vistas

                                    by DS Davidson

      Time machine journeys
      From an alternative past
      To a lost future
                                    by Aeronwy Dafies

      Dim Fields of Fading Stars
        by Phillip A. Ellis

To distance, stars and galaxies
recede to dim and dying fields
that fade in time
to nothing more than memories.

We few who sleep not find our way
towards a light that's dust as yet—
it closer comes,
and soon the midpoint shall be reached,

when, in our deft manouvering,
how our vessel shall but turn
so that we shall not go further.

And all who sleep shall find their way
into another world we'll build,
the ancient sun
no more than dust unseen by eyes.

      British space empire
      Utilising strange science
      That cannot exist
                                    by Aeronwy Dafies

After the War
by Phillip A. Ellis

The lifeless day that the space station fell
      back to the earth, its orbit frayed, it had
      ages before driven the last men mad
then killed within its waterless, foodless hell.

No-one on board realised that sudden day
      how a quick slip could make the winter come
      after a brief and sudden exchange, numb
at the thought of their planet dead, and left to pray

in vain for nations wrecked and peoples ash,
      in vain as nuclear winter took, and slow
      death had appeared before them. All would know
fears of extinction approach, before they'd crash.

And, one by one, the men succumbed to madness
with the Earth dead at last, sans hope or sadness.

Theory Of Gravity
by David Leverton

I have a private theory
that gravity is less a law
than an option.
Transcendence should be graspable.
We broke free, once,
lined up our rockets and
shot for the moon,
rising on towers of fire,
leapt free of that sphere-pull,
sprang like mad crickets,
drove buggies and
drove golf balls
into the wild yonder and observed
the lunar Countryside Code,
taking nothing but photographs
(and the odd ton of rock),
leaving nothing but footprints
(and an abandoned buggy
and a flag on a stick, and
somewhere, a forlorn golf ball, resting
on the universe's biggest fairway).
I think Newton would've seen the joy in that.

Those prints will last a million years
etched in pale fine sand
in their freezing vacuum, untouched;
dusty, distant achievements,
ancient history before I was born.
We have never gone back to add more
though we were supposed to
have built moonbases by now,
that was what my books said
when I was young
and I believed them, and the TV:
all white-grey plastic and
chunky consoles with flashing lights,
flared silver-foil suits and huge boots,
perhaps some helpful robots
tending the green plants beneath
the low domes of the oxygen farms
while liberated women and men
build new modules onto their utopias.

            Mars Attacks
         by DS Davidson

Alien war machines
Stride across the Earth
Red weed choking the waters
The dead choking the streets
Humanity has no answer
Slings and arrows alone
Against the lightning
Mankind's final stand
Martians have perfected

      Scientific romances
      Forgotten futures

                                    by Aeronwy Dafies

      Mechanical men
      Our servants for all seasons
      Minds of gears and valves

                              by DJ Tyrer

Don't Forget My Rose!
by Stacey Law

Memories! I trace the tracks of my past
Through time! I walked the paths and then endured
The beauty through these divine eyes of wine
My sorrows! They are ultimately prevalent
The feelings – my senses cultivate at last
As I step forward standing tall I too oppose
The calamity in my soul – I relish the rose
In the seasons – be it may that it die
Bewildered! I ponder! I then wonder why?
I stand on a solid rock – my foundation
Imagining the nurtured soil in the spring
That our future holds the beauty they bring
In my presence – the beauteous petals
Blooming in my mind – the imagery
I seek to find – the creative sense
In my eyes – I am bliss, I see – Hence!
I believe in the love, I do so admire
That the rose represents in my life
Purity – pure in the heart of gold
I still sit on the rock , forgetting what is told
Now the bush that died – I blame the most
May it bloom in the spring – love it may bring
Yet I am forgetful – the imagery dissolves
Around the bush – the cycle that revolves
And the hues of the beauteous sun, I do see
Brings the nurturing rays – but the rose did disappear
And my rock as I stand and my feelings so cold
In the winter blues – I forgot the rose I am told
Is life after death – in the soil now froze
May I remember in my mind the beauty of the rose
Bittersweet memories – I cherish the most
My garden of the flower again I cultivate
The weeds as they strangle my breath, spring!
I can wait! thus in my unconscious mind
In my dreams I silently listen, to what I find
In the freeze , beneath the bitter snow
Is my bud! in the roots of my bush and yet
Listening to the branches fill my conscious
Each future year! I tend to forget!

Sipping tea on Moon
Genteel exploration
Different values

                                 by Aeronwy Dafies

Missing hover cars
History took a wrong turn
To future present

                                 by DJ Tyrer

Instead we struggle to rise
a few miles above the cloud-tops.
Our faithful shuttles
ploughed valiant furrows
in low-Earth orbit
for thirty years
still grasping at a great leap forward,
their blunt-sleek streamlining
a promise of bringing the sky closer,
but even they are gone now.
They ended as expensive relics,
a false dawn, trailblazers to nowhere
but fiery disaster blasted
across the smoking skies
or to museums and the memory
of flight, and in my head
I am forever weighed down,
waiting for the future
that never comes.

There are still humans,
—a few, rattling around—
high, high
above the world in perpetual motion,
from blistering ascent
to a rushing glide through
the velvety night, where gravity's grip
is gone, a transcendent floating
as natural as breath or pulse,
a soundless streak across the stars.
Yet I am forever weighed down,
standing by a dead road,
some highway to the cosmos
with my thumb held out.
No-one ever comes past,
but I will wait;
I still silently long to travel,
soar into the firmament with
power and cacophonous grace,
a weightless dream, still,
to be the first boy on Mars.