The Galaxy of Lost Things

[N.B. There is a map of the Galaxy attached]


See, when it comes to Space and shit,
those physics boffins got it wrong.
Einstein’s dead, Cox is a twit,
and poor old Hawking’s not got long.
They say it’s mostly empty space.
But hold on tight - I know a place!

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...

If you have ever wondered where
you left your keys, then wondered more;
you’ve Googled them in your despair.
You can’t get out the bloody door.
Your keys have packed their lil’ key pack,
grew lil’ key legs and they ain’t coming back.

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...

The Galaxy of Lost Things seems
to run, in some ways, like our own.
Its central Sun runs on ice-creams.            
Eight planets, plus a moon, are known.            
The things you lose or leave behind
get their chance here, among Lost-kind.

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...

The nearest planet to the Sun,
this smallest, sweetest little gem

is known to all as ‘Planet One’.
Too full with sweets to carry them,
the naughty boys who dropped the lot
deserved the canings that they got.

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...

Second one out is Planet Road.
Most of the maps have thumbprints on.
This ball’s a rocky, stubborn toad,
too steeped in Right to have been Wrong.
Sadly, each road is wanting wear;
too soon there will be nothing there.

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...

Already seen, three’s Planet Keys:
chancy geezers wanting locks.
And Des Res lefties stocked with fleas
inhabit rainbowed Planet Sock:
Sock brings balm to my stone heart.
This is my life.  But is it Art?

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...

Sphere five’s a thrumming, red, ringed planet.
She’s a listening ear for words unsaid.
Vast aeons ago, her name was Janet.
Where are they now? Well... mostly dead.
She’s still single.  They call her, “Word”.
Speak up, and let your thoughts be heard.

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...

Our Janet’s got the mooniest moon:
Kawaii cartoon, shows its face in June.
Orangey, earwormy, silvery spoon,
Ran off with a minim, or was it balloon?
You can’t remember them hammerin’ shoes?
How will you sing the boogie blues?

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...

You push the Button.  You push dispense.
The Big Red Button does NOTHING, it’s true.
You push the Button. You push self defence.
You kill that Red Button, before it kills you.

If your teddy is missing an eye or an ear
his buttony appendage is probably here.

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...

The wettest of the planets here
boasts many streams awash with fish.
Its settlers celebrate New Year

with Kittish sushi, most delish!
Our British cats are pitied now,
still lost. These ones are found. Miaow!

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...


Planet Coin: its history
is bloody.  There were many wars.

How they got here’s a mystery
involving ships with lots of oars.
They saw no shops along the quay,
but Hey!  They’d sailed the Galac Sea.

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...

[CODA:]

You may or may not know this fact
that schoolboys use their schoolboy socks
for storing feet of course - not that -
but also earwax, string, and rocks.
The humble marble also features.
(They really are repugnant creatures).
 

De-socked of doodads from his left,
foot naked at the tournament -
A hole had rendered him bereft.            
Imagine his predicament:                        
His marbles gone, he felt a fool.
What a complete and utter TOOL.

His rocks and string no consolation,
He hobbled back inside to lunch.
He ate in bunched up isolation.
But Ho!  A sudden revelation!
He fought to hold on to his hunch:
If he could find where marbles go  

he could be, one day, very rich...            
He wiped his brow from all elation,
an arcane mask writ on his face.

‘Twas that same night he left, although
his cloak was dark and made him itch.
By dawn he had thrown off that place.
                                                                       
We met again, after much time
had passed, when he was rather grey,
he handed on, by dint of rhyme
the truth to his granddaughter Faye,
that marbles have an eerie force,
which urges them to join in flocks
to seek their soulmates in due course,
and fly to any waiting socks.

Somehow the day came: Someone knew
of Planet Sock, its rough location.
And she told someone else who guessed,
and all the while the expectation
grew, and people talk.  As folk are always want to do.

And so, in time, as was foretold -
Grandpa had gone; the fable old -            
All those lost socks in the land -
those damaged, holed, unloved and lost -  
they hitched a ride to a distant place
where, stories say, it all began.
They flew in sock formation, on
and on until they met their clan.

I read a vellum which explains          
why marbles on the Earth are sparse.
On rainless nights out on the plains
you might just see the socks fly past.
Perhaps, you know, those are the last.  

Oh! Did I say those marbles flock
round enigmatic Planet sock?
The old highways through hyperspace
are closed now.  Or perhaps it’s just...  
They’re somehow in another place.

You know, my dear, that people say
they’ve lost their marbles.  How can they?
How come they’ve lost what’s been and gone?
Even my father’d not seen one.
I think they speak a kind of code,
that some black flappy thing... is on the road.

We never talk about such things.
(I know, my dear, we’re talking now).
We’re talking, yes, but not too much
in case we conjure such and such.
And people say they’ve lost the socks
they never had.  They swing on swings,
Hope to be glad. I don’t know how.
And socks and socks and socks and socks and socks.

And socks are not the answer, No.
You’ve gone and lost your marbles. So
have I, my love.  Let’s sit on swings
and talk about all kinds of things
except the things we need to talk about.
Like, why the things don’t make us happy.
Well, maybe just a little while
but it wears off.  Clap hands!  More things!
And things and things and things and things and things.

And that is why I fly, I fly,
away to orbit Planet Sock.
I’ve lost my marbles.  
There are marbles there.
I stay awhile and learn to smile.
Having found my marbles, I come home.

I smile go home get on the phone
give the dog a bone and smile.  Alone.

Having found my marbles I return.

It’s like a giant washing machine.
It’s very clean.
And rinse.
And repeat.
And rinse.
And repeat.

***

Fire up your imagination,
out beyond the atmosphere-y
universe, a destination:
Hyperspace is not a theory!
Planet Earth is so last year:
It isn’t far, it isn’t near...


************END**************

© professoryackle (Sara Pitt) All Rights Reserved