Old Codes

Saturn’s rings and whispers in static,
carrying messages encoded in poetry:
past and present in colliding spaces
and small towns buried in desert sand
after ships took off and dragons took wing
following twinkling multiverse suns into
the familiar pull of the unknown

Exursion

A dream of poets in space,
a song
of painting the universe:
an excursion gone wrong,
a fatal crash flashing across
the story halfway through

and poets learned to navigate
coordinates in strange new terms,
the singers croon to cable sparks,
painters smeared in machine grease
appear from the ship’s bowels
giving thumb-ups to the ragtag crew:

disillusioned but stubborn artists,
officers with broken bones;
the ship half gone,
writing a story twice as intense

A Study in Smoke

And should the stars dim
way before morn
as a shadow passes overhead
silent, gliding between roof and sky
we know to ready, in our sleep,
glistening machinery
to catch more answers in a web
of coils and questions:
notebooks at hand
to say the word, hear the word
checklists open, screens alight
shadow brought in, machine whirring
with imaging but
artifacts, nothing but artifacts
and flames and smoke,
equipment broken
the shadow sliding away

Last Known Star

Stars blossom between your teeth as you leave the last known place, entering the infinite amount of possible spaces to explore, chewing the last rations of sanity and security, floating as you swallow the last barrier of nervousness keeping you from cutting the tether

anchoring you to the last known star: one more burst from your pack and you will be

where no human has been, lived, breathed
as far as you know, at least,

and you stumble over the crumbs of your last meal of planet-bound lights, full yet hungry after feasting on familiar motions, round and round, the clockwork of a solar system gnawing on the bones of months and years, and then you spit out the rocks in your mouth to leave behind your mark in meteor streaks

as you go out into the dark
to nourish your curious soul.

Milestone Years

The first few milestone years
passed:

the promised worlds of neural links
wondrous rabbit holes
of digital adventures

didn’t come

and as the years go
on past the books and movies

we see an unexpected dystopia:
all the downsides

without the bright-eyed interfaces
illuminating datascapes to virtual sight

and still we stumble along crumbling bridges
following flickering flames
through the dark

New Blog About Anne McCaffrey’s Stories

I started a secondary blog / website to collect all my thoughts on Anne McCaffrey’s stories, because my distributed rambling on that topic on other platforms was getting a bit out of hand.
Go visit unicornandpegasus.wordpress.com for more on that.
It’s named after the short story collection I’m currently reading, called “Get off the Unicorn”, and the Pegasus trilogy (“To Ride Pegasus”, “Pegasus in Flight”, “Pegasus in Space”) which sparked my interest in her work.

It’s a pretty niche subject, especially since I haven’t read her more famous Dragonriders novels yet, opting for the weirder stuff instead which nobody in my social circle knows.

The blog is still under construction of course as I started it today after lunch on my phone without any planning.

Cylinder

She hated the round not-sky, the curve of the horizon following her eyes all the way up to where the stars were supposed to be. The stars were sideways, in the round blackness of the axis windows.
Born into this not-world and still all her instincts screamed wrong at her whenever she looked up from her books, her work, her path.
One day, she’d stow herself away on a ship and try to make her way planetside, Earth or whatever solid sphere came first.

From Deepest Space

In the deepest depths
of the most remote corners of space
in cold slipstreams
and the blaze of solar eruptions
mysteries thrive;

And from the deepest depths
of the strangest ocean moons
in rogue orbits
and beneath razor-sharp glaciers
there flow signals still undecoded,
save for one line:

Here grow flowers, come see them.

Second Stage

In the walls of cities high
flowers sleep and wait
dreaming of a spring to bloom
on the other side

once reached across the cosmic gulf
the engines pow’ring down
castles high up in the sky
setting for descend

on fairy land in clusters strange
twin moons above and dusky tides
carbon changing atmosphere
pressure running high

time is short and days are young
until horizons get slowed down
turned over into soil and sea
and flowers set the stage.