Sorry, Leonard...I'm Busy

From his clearly deep and moving 1978 collection of poetry, Come Be with Me--the title of this post bears my response to his command--I give you an unparalleled gem...by Leonard Nimoy.

It is true that roses on a birthday ARE exciting--I don't begrudge him this statement--but they pale in comparison to rocket ships.  Rocket ships can go into freaking space and you can look up close at stars and planets and the moon and stuff.   Roses smell great, prick your fingers, and then die.  They may transport you in an olfactory sense, but--and I'll say it again--rocket ships can go into FREAKING SPACE.


He makes a few other valid points, though.  Logic, in fact, will never replace love.  It can't: one is reasonable and the other uncontrollable, chemical, mystical, magical...I should probably stop myself before I start quoting Beatles lyrics.   


The real problem I have with the poem--and I use that word with so much trepidation--is that the leaf print to the left has NO tie to the poem at all, and the last three words are an oxymoron; how can one be "an old-fashioned Spaceman," when spacemen are clearly from the future?  


Jeesh.  This guy.