Star Wars

Star Wars

       –for Beth

 

When I was but a child, back in

the eighties in the small east Texas

town of Orange, I knew a set

of sisters—Beth, Cassie, and Karen.

They were the first friends that my brother

and I made after we moved from

Illinois. Now Beth and I

were the oldest of the siblings,

so we always picked out the games

we played—usually Star Wars.

I loved the brashness of Ford’s Han

Solo (and his way with Leia),

but Luke was the story’s hero,

so I’d rotate between the two.

Beth was always Leia. I mean,

to me she was a true princess—

beautiful and charming in

her country ways. We’d make

Cassie and Jeremy pair up

as the villains of our childhood

games—after all, it was only

natural since I had to

have Beth—my childhood sweetheart, my

princess. And Karen, cause of her

young age and short stature, always

played an Ewok, bumbling around.

I’d rescue Beth from the evil

Darth Jeremy, battling with our light

sabers, Karen running around

screaming her little head right off.

We were a bit too young for a

kiss to be my reward, although

I did get to hold hands and call

her my girlfriend a time or two—

ah, sweet innocence. Then time

moved on. Marriage. And death. And drugs.

And what happens now that the story

ends. My princess grew up and I’m

simply no hero. The credits

Plantation

So my first publication credit came in 2002. My second came in 2003 from a small magazine out of Texas Christian University in Fort Worth called descant. It’s only published once per year but generally it is a delightful little magazine, well worth picking up. They actually accepted two of my poems, one of which is one the first poems I worked on in meter. And I slaved over it. The work I did on “Plantation” with Sam Gwynn and especially with Alan Sullivan (now deceased) on the Eratosphere message boards on the Able Muse website basically taught me meter (along Tim Steel’s phenomenal   book, All’s the Fun in How You Say a Thing).

 

Plantation

                            I.

As Summer leaves, Autumn arrives on stage.

Her top falls, drifting like a sequined leaf.

Her hair, pale as corn husks at harvest time,

stirs when she moves—floats, drifts about her head.

With one last lazy twist of willowy hips,

and one climactic flourish from her hair,

the music falls to nothing while she rakes

the scattered bills into a growing pile.

And then she gathers all those fallen leaves.

 

                           II.

Sweet Honey slowly oozes from the hive

and on to the stage to the dripping thump of bass.

Her dance, a glide to the edge where they have massed,

her drones crowding, crawling to their desire—

golden skin wrapped in a sheer black sarong.

The music fades, and from devoted subjects,

she takes their crumpled alms—faded from use.

Her pallid keeper smiles at this cash crop.

There’s nothing that sells better than his Honey.

 

                            III.

Eyes closed—the scent of Rose’s covers me,

and satin petals softly brush my lips.

This flower, ready to bloom—the music stops—

all dances end. My eyes meet hers, as green

as Spring’s, and with a smile, Rose takes what’s owed.

I watch her go, a bud I cannot pluck.

But now, it’s time to go. The manager

must tend his garden. Outside, night burns pink,

lit from the neon sign that whispers—Eden.

 

 

This is the only poem I’ve written so far that has gotten any “acclaim” lol. descant gives two awards (or did at the time) each issue to a poem, I got the lesser of the two, the  Baskerville Publisher’s Award, for “Plantation”, which garnered $250. So good stuff eh.

Now Sam said Dave Kuhne (the editor at the time of descant) was the only editor that would take this poem about strippers and his wife was the only person who would it an award lol. Thank you Kuhnes.