Farnborough Grammar School

Prospect Avenue, Farnborough, Hampshire

Telephone : Farnborough 539

Poems by Thomas Grosch (Nuncs)
Lunar Sea - version 2


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LUNAR SEA
(Second version - after Bertha Klug)

Once mystic moon, the Muses’ blurb,
A majesty dethroned, so now addressed
In sad plebeian tones of minor scale;
Once cynosure of lovers' eyes you reigned
And leukolithic queen a nightly court
You mid obeisance of stars once held.
No longer; man has raised his grasping hand.
Sea of Tranquillity, (strange misnomer now),
Robbed of the solemn peace of aeons past,
All wonder, mystery, adoration lost, has now
Become by rare a common slut
A new-found press-ganged serving-wench
To toady man's insatiable appetite.
Gravity and space have proved
No guardians of that sweet marmoreal breast,
O'erscanned and scratched
To delve imagined secrets from her store;
Invaded by plenipotentiaries of
Disruption, anarchy, hate and war,
And all to seize some parsimonious yield,
Mere dust in eyes that planned to look on jewels.
Virgin no more, yet you have not
Betrayed your secret heart;
Unmoved, for all the deafening din
Of Progress; enigmatic smile
At man's naiveté,
His little triumph mid immensity.
So whither now? Another myriad miles?
The vaults unlocked again by promise of
Megalomaniacal rewards?
Yet present aims,-
To enrich the State,
Enlarge the personal aura and prestige,
Exhibit technic wonders to the world
And leave behind no jot of recompense
Have left the cupboard bare.
And what a billion-dollars'-worth it is!
A little gladsome gurgle in a lab,
Kaleidoscopic fun with microscopes,
The joy of play with toys of skilled design
And murder of a blameless anthropoid.
Up shot the pulse rate of mankind
When human foot outraged that virgin floor,
As yet untrodden:
Ephemeral wonder,
Now a commonplace,
The hearts that beat as one now heterodyne
With jingle - jangle once again supreme.
No dividend; Dame Nature here below
Rampages on. Poverty, hunger, hate, disease
And death, the dowry of nativity, remain.
Space stations whispered of,
Designed to rule the universe;
Satanic powers envisaged;
Self-immolation and the smell of death
Befoul the air, a legacy
For millions yet unborn - computerised, of course.
Once mystic moon,
That over peaceful slumbers kept your watch,
Lest we forget
Pray keep us sane and solvent yet.

(A more modern version of version 1)

April 1971



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