Golden Age

He said he lost her in an ion storm
hard-hit on the portside in a Ceres high-orbit
a sudden flash and she vanished forever.
lost in space, out in the black, no one can hear you scream.

He said he lost her in a poker game
to a blue haired Antarean girl with a treacherous smile
a beautiful pirate queen who stole his heart
once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away.

He said: all we know is this: she’s gone.
she left us with nothing but stories of past glories
tales that fill the infinite expanses
in them, we chase the stars. We live on the edge of forever.

oldrocketship

The Places I’m From

walkway

(c) T.L. Ryder

I am from that indigo moment before dawn
Boiled up from 2 parts sulfurous water
One part shining, frozen snow, and
a dash of good whiskey thrown in for flavor.

I am from the edge of the reservation,
From the side of the cliff that we didn’t fall down—much,
From the back corner of the library, where we
Read the books your mom wouldn’t let us take home.

I am from red-skinned people with black hair,
From white-skinned people with red hair,
From people who came here for a better life, and
People whose way of life was taken from them.

I am from Star Trek, Star Wars and Dune,
The Force be with You!
From the pleading of rosary beads at bedside,
From the glory of Father Sun bringing life to the world.

I am from flat bread, fry bread and sheep tail fat,
Boiled cabbage with bacon, greasy lima beans,
Sage cut from a bush in the prairie, fresh pronghorn stew,
Hamburger Helper and Tab.

(found this old thing from 2010 and decided to re-post it)

Home

THEY say “Home is where the heart is.”
I have left a piece of heart behind
blue asbestos siding
picture window
white trim
and yet
THEY say “You can’t go home again.”
I drive by and find shards of memory
the blue is gone
new bay window
unfamiliar shrubs
and yet
I say “Home sweet home.”
The ghost of once upon a time lives on
old driveway
Dad’s shed
still there
And yet. . .

 

easter67

Easter, about 1968. The picture window is gone but the house still stands.

Rough-Riding Sidesaddle

I wore out my welcome before I was born;
I will never play Kate to your Petruccio.
Adversity has been my most constant friend
You cannot teach things that I already know.

796px-james_ward_-_a_farmhand_riding_side-saddle_carrying_an_urn_-_google_art_project

James Ward,  A Farmhand Riding Side-saddle, Carrying an Urn.

 

Disapprove of me all you please;
Censure has always been my lot.
All those things you’d prefer not to remember
Are things for me too dear to be forgot.

Your outcasts do not always wither away;
Sometimes they flourish in alien soil.
And sometimes the ones you sought to destroy
Are the very ones you cannot despoil.

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