mashing two entirely disparate dissatisfactions into one

conflating the recent complaints about the "I write like" meme and this beautiful rant about Science Fiction poetry, I present:

This Is A Science-Fiction Poem

This is a science-fiction poem.

Lo, there is a rocket! And I shall describe the rocket!
It is long, and very big, and goes both whoosh and boom,
and makes me feel all manly when I watch it go.
It is firmly made, with a red tip and thrusters,
And little men inside to take our ideas to the stars,
That great womb of space we long to fill.

This is a science-fiction poem.

Hey, there are aliens! And I shall describe the aliens!
They are tall and too skinny, like Paris runway models,
and green with weird ears and nefarious, unknown goals.
I can tell they are evil because they are a different color,
Though I mean that only to apply to things in space,
And not people -- no, I don't mean people at all.

This is a science-fiction poem.

Oh, there's a black hole! And I shall describe the black hole!
It sucks everything in and crushes it relentlessly,
Which somehow must be a transcendent experience.
We are told that not even light can escape, but data can --
Or so said that popular physicist Hawking,
Who is very smart for a guy in a wheelchair.

This is a science-fiction poem.

Oh, there's a vampire! And I shall describe the vampire!
He's all sparkly and--
--damn it, no! This is a science-fiction poem.

(no subject)

Facts will straddle the Earth as a colossus, and you shall live in their shadow