DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The poem contents are the creation and property of Katy Wilson and is copyright (c) 1976 by Katy Wilson. Originally printed in Tal-Shaya #4, 1976.
that rattle in the wind
like seed pods
gone are the rose bracelets of cities;
gone are the dunes that conquered them;
there is only the sun
and the dust
and the heat.
The sun, with his lantern rises,
to search out the dark and lonely places
Where shall I start, of what shall I sing?
the peaceful bay from the terrace, azure
mirror of the constant sun
or of the cities gold in sunset, grey
bones at night...
i am buried alive in images!
buried as a miser with his gold--
faces and thoughts and pensive wanderings
and mad desires and quiet contentment
all pouring down over me
enter a white ship
laden with lightyears
bending slowly into orbit
sunrise reflecting in
but I will not Sing of emptiness
of the end of things
for how can I know , to Sing
of things that will never be,
have never been
even in the clouded glass of the night
sky there are stars unseen
cruel stars that lean closer,
waiting to put this funny little
coal to the torch...
"Listen to that wind, will you? God, what a barren place -- nothing but rocks and more rocks. And sand. I hate sand."
"A splendid desolation--"
"You'd be quoting in the loony bin after a year in this place. I pity the survey team that gets stationed here, if this prelim goes through."
"Oh, I imagine you'd get used to it."
"Like I'd get used to this plague! Well -- your 'splendid desolation' is blowing sand in my instruments -- they're going nuts. What about yours?"
The birds grow still
I reach for you at night to keep the fierce stars
for they pry at the shades with their hard
and send dreams, nay, torments of
in their golden shafts
"I said, are your instruments working OK?"
"Hmm? Oh -- yeah, they're OK. Why?"
"Why? Just look -- now they're steady... You had the doggondest look on your face just then -- dreaming of Lilith, hmm? Admit it."
"Well, maybe a little bit -- the way the wind was whistling over these rocks sounded almost, well, musical. Like a faint song--"
"And a little green man was singing it, right?"
"The only one that fits that description around here is YOU!"
"Smart aleck. I'm going to get to work -- it's too damned cold to fool around."
warm for the season today
all the boats are winging across the harbor
like children out from school
and even the great fish of the harbor are looming
up to the sky to watch
an eternity rests in this day
the content I bear in you is safe, even
"Funny, but the longer I'm in space, the less I remember Suzy the way she really is-- It just seems like she stays exactly the same as that picture I have of her -- smiling, in that dress I always hated, holding little Eddy up -- I always wondered why the old hands say you marry space and a ship, not a woman..."
you were frozen by my wish
I propped you up, snapped the shutter
and now you will stay 29 forever
your past and future fitting neatly
in an 8 x 10 frame--
those are not MY images
alien, pale-bodied women
with dull dark eyes and heavy limbs
"But she HAS to change -- you know that. Can't you just keep remembering that?"
"Yeah, but I keep forgetting -- that sounds funny -- keep forgetting to remember. Got the table for the Altair experiment?"
another Singer? the song is
thin and reedy -- but quick and alien
but there is no one here; I am alone
in the house
maybe they will sing again--
"Remember the sea on Earth? All the boats. That was a fun shore leave."
"Nothing better than messing around in boats, said Rat to Mole."
"You and your quotes."
there it is --
I will follow it
"Wonder where our next shore leave'll be? The Old Man say yet?"
"No -- Feger asked him last week and he just glowered."
"He doesn't like shore leave, that's all -- his idea of a good time is to hole up and do inventory."
"Or play solitaire -- give me a hand with this, would you?"
"Well, I hope it's at the sea, anyway. Doesn't look like this poor place ever had one to begin with..."
where is it??
that old wound -- that dusty scar --
and where is the city?? there is
nothing in this place except rocks and
dust -- this is not my world!
alien! Hear me! I followed your
thought to this graveyard -- this forgotten place
"Damn, listen to the wind howl! Good thing we're almost done ... sounds like a storm's coming up."
"It shouldn't -- no moisture in the air."
"Well, it's here anyway -- let's get those samples stored--"
I can hear them but
not them me
am I the ghost
I cannot live here --
this gravity is slowly picking me
apart -- my energy webs are
I will not die on this
mockery of a planet -- where my
Singing lives so will I --
alien -- I am your debt,
"It's -- eerie. I don't think they'll put a station here."
"What--? What in blazes has that got to do with a station?"
"Before, it seemed alive. Now it's dead -- carrion. It'll start stinking under this sun."
"If you say so -- well, THIS carcass needs some food--"
Go to bed, and lie
nice and quiet, the medic says.
With that 'have I got another wacko on my
hands?' look ... He should talk...
well, it wouldn't hurt to take a snooze what I can -- some
peace and quiet -- skid 3rd watch--
. . . . . . . . . The stars had their revenge, but they didn't win . . . . .
Now why did I think that? Odd
-- it just drifted in there--
I'll think about the sea -- can hear the
waves, almost, and the salt on the wind . . . . . .
and the birds crying
and the boats sailing . . .
and the sun with his lantern rises,
to search out the dark and lonely places
lovers lie . . . . . . . .