# space poem #8



## dannyboy (Mar 7, 2017)

Out passed the belt,
a planet undone by circumstance,
out where the light dwindles into dreams
of all that might have happened
if the choices had been different,
out with the small rocks,
sometimes planets, sometimes not,
a person can think for days -
or should that be nights -
about decisions made
and under the swell of all that time,
for without light time becomes almost meaningless,
and in the warp of all that thinking,
lose themselves to shame, to regret, to missed chances
and drown beneath the memories of what is
compared to what could have been
if only selections were made on weighing the opportunity
instead of escaping (and so reinventing) the past.


----------



## Bard_Daniel (Mar 7, 2017)

I liked this line the most:* "out where the light dwindles into dreams".* NICE.

Thanks for the read.


----------



## Firemajic (Mar 8, 2017)

dannyboy said:


> Out** passed** the belt,*** Passed or past... ? hummm...
> a planet undone by circumstance,
> out where the light dwindles into dreams** This would make a fabulous opening line, and would break up the feeling that you were "telling" rather than "showing"
> of all that might have happened** this line and the above line seems to tell, rather than show... jmo...
> ...




Tighten this up, Danny... your message is going to be lost in a dark void of vagueness ...Deep space is mysterious, endless and enthralling... so many possibilities for intense imagery! Dark Matter, Black Holes, Solar Storms and Solar Flares, the continuum of time and space is a fabulous poetic metaphor and with your skill as a writer, could be so mind blowing.... I like where you are going, but I think you should leave the beaten path and explore the unknown...


----------



## CrimsonAngel223 (Mar 8, 2017)

Cool piece I enjoyed the theme space is the final frontier for sure.


----------



## dannyboy (Mar 9, 2017)

space poem #8 (edit 1)

Out passed the belt,
a planet undone by circumstance,
out where the light dwindles into dreams
of all that has been conceived
and will one day be and then not, over and over again,
a recurrent theme, like a line of lovers all different
and all the same.
Out with the small rocks,
sometimes planetoids, sometimes comets, 
the bang and the whimper, tied with strings or severed knots,
a person can think for days,
that, with the absence of light,
fold in upon themselves and become separate universes -
about decisions made
and under the swell of all that time,
for without light time is a guest at best, at worst
a shape shift between past and future tensions,
and in the warp of all that thinking,
lose themselves to human red shift;
drown beneath the memories of what is
compared to what could have been
if only selections were made by weighing the opportunity 
instead of escaping (and so reinventing) past whorls.


----------



## dannyboy (Mar 9, 2017)

space poem #8 (edit 2)

Out passed the belt,
planets undone by circumstance,
out where light dwindles into dreams
of all that has been conceived but not yet,
out where things will one day be and then not, 
over and over again;
a recurrent theme, a line of lovers all different,
all the same.

Out beyond the small rocks, 
sometimes planetoids, sometimes comets,
the bang and the whimper, tied with strings or severed knots,
out there a person can think for days,
that, with the absence of light,
fold in upon themselves, become alternate realities,
about decisions made
and under the swell of all that time -
for without light and in the vacuum, time is a guest
at best, at worst 
a shape-shifter between past and future tensions -
and in the warp of all that thinking
lose themselves to human red shift;
drown beneath memories of what is
compared to what could have been
if only selections were made by weighing the opportunity
instead of escaping (and so reinventing) past whorls.


----------



## Firemajic (Mar 9, 2017)

Hummmm.... please do not jettison me in to a black hole, but {JMHO} you drifted into the prose universe...


----------



## dannyboy (Mar 11, 2017)

wouldn't be the first time. I tend to drift there frequently


----------



## mark_schaeffer (Mar 12, 2017)

Cut it by 30% and then another 10% and it will take shape before your eyes.


----------



## dannyboy (Mar 12, 2017)

that would depend on what was cut


----------



## Kevin (Mar 12, 2017)

Firemajic said:


> Hummmm.... please do not jettison me in to a black hole, but {JMHO} you drifted into the prose universe...


if it is all metaphor doesn't that make it poetry? Ja


----------



## mark_schaeffer (Mar 13, 2017)

dannyboy said:


> that would depend on what was cut



Cut the flab, leave the rest. Might want to read the chapter _Liposuctioning Flab_ from Stein on Writing if the brown spots in the apple aren't clear to you. 

Outer space is a rich subject though you could jazz up your titles a bit. Maybe retain space in the titles but also add some descriptive bits that fit each poem. More nuanced that way.  Blah blah blah / Space VIII.

Btw,what poets do you read the most?


----------



## Firemajic (Mar 13, 2017)

Kevin said:


> if it is all metaphor doesn't that make it poetry? Ja




JMHO... but.... no... ')


----------



## dannyboy (Mar 13, 2017)

I understood mark, just being flippant.

As to the tiles, some will have titles, many will not, just numbers in a chain, at this point anyway, mind you, all the poems, and their connections, are still forming in this scattered mind of mine.

Poets: Heaney always. Elliott for melancholy, an Australian called Heald, and then whoever comes passing by my hand and eye.


----------



## dannyboy (Mar 14, 2017)

space poem #8 (edit 2)

Beyond the belt,
planets undone by circumstance,
out where light dwindles into dreams
of all that will one day be and then not;
recurrent themes orbiting, 
a line of lovers all different, all the same.

Out with the small rocks, planetoids, comets, 
the bang and the whimper, tied with strings 
or severed knots, a starman can think -
though, with the absence of light,
ideas fold in upon themselves, become  wormholes-
and in the warp of all that contemplation,
a starman can drown beneath the memories of what is
compared to what could have been
if only opportunity was weighed
instead of the reinvention of past whorls.


----------

