Meg Frances

Black(hole) Power

Suck it up, everything
And tell no one, most importantly
Where the things we haven’t seen
Have gone.

This is Black hole Power
Away, a silent sucking occurs
A celestial mouth opens
Deforming space-time
Its dark breath inhales
Mercilessly and so, into this
everything must go.

Does it hum low
While devouring; maiming matter
It drinks of space like water
Makes a mockery of stars that glow and
Strike awe into teens on rooftops
Staring from dilated spheres, up at larger spheres
Gets us even higher

Hovering, they seem the biggest thing
Twinkle twinkle little giants!
As Black hole Power hurries forth
To swallow/eat your dream.

Ravenous without conscious will
A metaphor for never to return
Like when my heart fell
Under your power, and spun
Quite unstoppably, to be sucked toward
Your junky soul
(The blackest hole)

Tell no one, most importantly.

The Discoverer

In Ulm,

Another birth

Bloody baby back leaving the print of new life on mother,

Doctor’s hands and birthing cloth; like a tally mark

The Here-I-Am of screams and heart beats

In Germany, a few pounds of infant spilled out

Followed by a crown of womb and before anyone knew

Who had came

The Discoverer was spanked and named.

A rebel in school, though not

The chronic flunky myth we’ve been taught to believe

Because the truth would mean

That god could pick favorites

Because genius is easier to accept

If framed as an accident

A rebel in thought, though not

Without the looming Nazi squeeze, anyway

Most creative people have to first leave

Before we can understand who came.

Death grants respect like an overdue apology.

A swayed pacifist pens a prophetic letter

(Einstein to Eisenhower:

Split uranium equals world power and

Don’t forget to square the infamy)

Then go ahead and blame him for what we have done

The Discoverer as The Scapegoat as

A killer without a gun

Yet, he remained horrified by the dropping of the bomb.

He struggled with going too far

Navigating the landscape of brilliance through the fog of belief

Because “God does not play dice”, he said.

And if massive stars could die

Become black holes and destroy life

And nothing could escape, not even light

Then where lay the order of a perfect Genesis?

Time may have an end.

If this thought did not occur

To the great discoverer

Then God became unreliable

And the universe, more chaotic than Hell.

One would have to choose

Between faith and fact

And The Discoverer could become errant &

Hopelessly human and

Just that.

Rhymes and Strings

Human eyes see concrete things
Our minds are more elastic
Base particles became base strings
To reconcile two fields of thought

Electrons occupy just one place
As single, unique points
But strings move differently through space:
One-dimensional lines

That sometimes loop themselves to curl
And vibrate life within atoms
To give mass, flavor, charge & whirl
Based on how each oscillates

Even more, M theory states
Changes when we consider strings
Space-time gains stranger traits
Like eleven dimensions

Like supersymmetry between
Bonsons and fermions
Two types of particles that seem
Separate yet connected

Many think that this could be
That long sought after ToE
The Theory of Everything
We humans crave to feel at ease

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My name is Meg Frances. I’m a 28 year old Dallas poet currently living in Bed Stuy. My first book, FFing, was published in 2011 by Desperanto (now Sixteen Fourteen  Press). Other works of mine have been featured on, on stage at Circus Freaks, and in Let It Bleed issue #1, a Dallas based chapbook. The poems below were written during a time after college when I began a casual obsession with the writings of various investigations of the cosmos and all thing related to the field of astrophysics.

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