Voyager

It would be a crime,

to confine,

to contain you;

to constrain you

and force us both to stay at eye-level.

Months of planning,

of meticulous engineering

and countless calculations

mustn’t be wasted.

I believe in you,

eyes trained toward the night sky,

you worked tirelessly for this.

Rehearsals

day-in and day-out,

for best and worst-cases,

drills and and regular upgrades

culminated, finally, in this.

Liftoff.

It was overcast,

like the black smoke

you left behind,

but where you’re headed

it hardly matters.

I stand in awe of you,

as you wrestle out of gravity’s grip

breaking through

the heavens —

you did this yourself.

Free now

to see the vast expanse.

I think of you,

of us,

and I’ll carry you with me.

I wouldn’t have missed it

for the world.

Event Horizon

I feel it,

I feel it

as I play this game of chicken

inching up

to the point of no return.

I’m pulled closer and closer

yet the gravity of the situation

never quite dawns on me.

My vertebrae, adaptable and flexible

to a point,

find rest

tracing the shape of the pilot’s seat.

I’ve sat for too long,

and need to stretch my legs.

I’ve come all this way,

and, out of nowhere

I’ve crossed the threshold and

I’m in too deep.

Before anyone I’d ever heard of

was born,

a far-off star collapsed dead

and left a void of

crushing fury,

the wrath of a blind idiot God.

For the crime of intrusion

on His private domain,

I will be welcomed in

for eternity.

And I will be pulled even further

beyond my limits.

I’m just a wayward thread

yanked from its seam,

falling into

the great abyss

I feel it,

I feel it.

Sun Spots

Life-giving radiance

more than intense enough

to destroy all

that leans in close.

The seared paint

and armor plates will

shield us

but not for too long.

We are stuck inside

the worst piñata ever.

Flares breach the surface,

crashing back

to bask on brilliant light.

The surface crackles,

dappled like the starry nights

it vanquishes.

And even the Sun

couldn’t keep the heat

all the way up —

certainly not forever.

We don’t have long

to admire

what we plainly see.

That’s why we get out there.

Nebula

That twinkle in your eyes,

swear I could see it

for miles.

But if we observe

more closely

the mosaic

reveals itself.

Specs of dust,

trillions in number

collect and condense as

tumbling

cotton-candy clouds

crackling and cascading.

Billowing towers,

stand tall over

waves perpetually

cresting,

brilliant streaks

in the swirling mist –

like looking through a prism

while watching a parade.

In the vastness,

the great, expansive vacuum,

we find

arcs of lightning,

fireballs,

shining stars taking shape

and making strides,

to lighting the way.

I see the spark in you.

Dark was the Night, Cold was the Ground

Maybe some day,

The whole world will know my name,

Hang on my every word,

Hum, clap, dance and nod to my songs,

But tonight, I just strum on my cigar box.

Maybe some day,

I’ll travel all over Texas,

Or leave this state,

On a cross-country tour,

Cap it all off with a worldwide voyage,

But tonight, for anyone in earshot, I’ll just strum on my cigar box.

Maybe some day,

I’ll be all over the radio,

The stars themselves would dance,

Because I’ve gone platinum,

Hell, I’d settle for gold,

But tonight, for anyone who’ll stick around, I’ll just strum on my cigar box.

Extremophiles

Bacteria

stuck to the side

of a hydrothermal vent

metabolizing,

with black smoke,

rising,

or encased,

in ancient salt crystals,

photosynthesizing.

Processing cyanide

or sulfur

to grow,

then split.

Residing,

where it’s corrosive,

with high temperatures,

and/or

intense pressure,

dissolved metals,

minerals,

or chemicals.

Found,

in massive, arid, vacuous deserts,

the bottom of the arctic,

or gaps inside boulders,

or the vacuum of space.

Extremes are not insurmountable

just because they are not conducive

to life.

It’s full of proverbial surprises

after all.

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I Hope You Find What You’re Looking for

The aperture

of a telescope

cannot get

cataracts,

but it can be scratched,

through carelessness,

or callousness.

When you don’t need it,

it collapses

like a bashful brass,

Matryoshka.

The mount

will need to be screwed on,

swiveled,

tilted,

and tightened.

The eyepiece

will fatigue

if you strain,

but that’s only if

you spend too much time searching

and not enough time

finding.

There’s no rewinding,

If you missed Saturn’s rings

because you blinked,

or a lunar eclipse,

because you happened to drift.

So whatever it is you’re looking for

I hope you find it,

because it comes down to timing sometimes,

even with the right tools,

even when you know what you’re looking for,

even when you think you’ve found it.

Lost in Space

The whole family,

Can join in,

On this white-knuckle thrill ride.

An action-packed,

Tour-de-force,

About wayfarers in a massive vacuum,

Alone,

For millions of lightyears,

Of course.

What great TV,

With which to live vicariously!

The troublesome son,

The authoritarian father,

The doting mother,

The precocious daughter,

And a robot with a heart of gold.

Staving off boredom,

By playing card games,

And charades,

And moving forward uninhibited,

Except by an occasional asteroid.

Tune in,

Or don’t.