Search for Extra Terrestrial Intelligence

"Hooray!  Oh WOW!"
The Searcher screams
"Is this the Signal
that's filled my dreams?"

Wiggles and squiggles
Which aren't what they're used to -
All Searchers take notice:
"What could this be?  WHO?"
They run, jump and cheer (which makes quite a fuss)
All the while shouting, "They found us!  They FOUND us!"

Or have we found them?  Could this be the day?
Think, he says, Think!  Think of something to say!
The Searcher thinks quickly with quivering lip
And says "Welcome?  Who are you? ... How was your trip?"

(He'd just begun this wordy speech
His wordy speech - abruptly ceased
His colleagues made his speech to cease -
"Please think before your wordy speech!")

From where does this strange Signal come?
A random radio's distant hum?
A wayward wavelength?  Only one?
Please find out first where it is from!

The Searcher sank
How could they yank
His hopes and dreams?
His happy screams?
Giving up would be a crime;
He would not, could not, anytime!

But facing facts, what choice had he?
Dreams aren't practicality.

"I wish so to find them!
Or them to find me -
How long must I wait
For a sure guarantee?"

His colleagues sighed
Their hopes, too, died.
Although their minds are skilled and deft,
Few clues had the Signal left...

It was too short
For them to sort
Or even label
They just weren't able.

They decided they'd wait
For them, nothing new
They stood, paced and sat
It was all they could do.

Some Searchers wandered, some sulked while some pondered
The thought that came to them made all quite appalled
They realized suddenly as they watched the stars glistening
"What if They called
And no one was listening?"

So with interest grown anew
They resumed to tend their view.

Such smart Searchers should have known
That Aliens lack telephones.
The Signal carries secret tones,
Voyaging through vast time zones,
Moving fast with speed of light,
Journeying by moons at night,
Escaping strange galactic groans -
Comes living proof - We're not alone!

Aliens with hopes like ours
Gather 'round the Waterhole
Unaware of Drake's Equations,
Patiently wait at their stations.

They have dreams and visions, too
Of finding us, of sharing views.
To snag us they attempt to use
Elec-Tro-Magnetic Shoes.
They've waited years - they know we're near;
Our floating space junk's made them veer.

We have looked both far and wide
We have looked both high and low
Say it's not so!  There's nowhere to go?
Could that be right?  Nowhere to go...
Not high or low,
Nor far or wide,
Not up and down,
Against or around!
Yet who is to say
Where life can be found?

Both sides question if the "other" knows
About arms and legs and wobbly toes?
Laser beams and dance machines?
Prom dates; catecholamines?
Would they juggle in the park?
Could they find peas in the dark?

Do they win the lottery?
Can they color pottery?
When their kid goes off to bed
What kinds of tales are they read?
Could they be hostile?  Scary?  A fright?
Would we seem smart or not all that bright?

What could it be that they are made of?
Could they be solid or something that's tauter?
Could it be we are signaling
Nothing but dumb blobs of water?

And what, ask you may, would an Alien say?
Would we understand what they say, anyway?
What's our response?  Have we even a clue?
Most likely we'd kibitz with all nations who
Would quarrel and squabble over each little word -
To such busy humans it would not have occured
That it may have just taken a zillion light years
For the Signal to travel where it finally appears.

I know not how that banana is peeled,
But I cannot see what that system could yield!

So Aliens get on with life,
And Seachers slowly fill with strife.
This day's chaos lacked event
From where was that damn Signal sent?

One day we'll erase confusion
Listen - What I say is true!
That day we'll efface illusion
With a great big rendezvous!

Til that day comes
We will be ones
To watch and wait
To ponder fate
To drink our Cokes
And tell bad jokes
It's worth it, if you care to see -
It benefits humanity.

Mankind must explore his world
The cosmos, heavens, galaxies galore -
We must push limits, we must know more
There must be so much left in store!

To give up now would be a crime.
We could not, should not, anytime.

Copyright © 1997 Gina M Bregar