"eisley" poems
Chewie hasn’t touched his food
I hope he’ll be o.k..
It hasn’t been the same for him
Since Leia passed away.
He’s a melancholy Wookie
as anyone can see.
He mopes around the ship all day
And he’s molting terribly
Twas bad enough when Obi-wan
was struck down by Darth Vader.
But it’s no surprise when an old man dies
That’s expected, now or later.
Our Princess was a force you see
Bringing gales of laughter
which is why we want her here
and not in the hereafter.
He’s a melancholy Wookie
as anyone can see.
He mopes around the ship all day
And he’s molting terribly.
I hope one day we’ll meet again
In Mos Eisley’s Cantina
That gold bikini may not fit
But we’d still be glad to see her.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
timing is probably the most important thing
in the entire universe
when you really think about it -
it's like when a certain record comes out
and it defines that entire era
of your life
like the summer of 2001 when I was nine,
in the car with my dad on a hot summer day
and he stumbled upon "I'm Like A Bird" on one of the stations,
and we turned it up, rolled the windows down,
and we knew that that song would always be
ours.
and it's truly just so crucial to our existence,
the timing of things -
like when I met this beautiful person on the internet
who soon after became my best friend
and turned my whole life around. but the timing of it
was perfect and had i not met her right on that day of that month
of that year, i probably would not be remotely close
to who i am today.
and I already know that this summer is going to be associated
with Daft Punk's 'Random Access Memories', with "Get Lucky" blaring loud
on every stereo in the city,
it will remind me of Eisley's album, "Currents", and the song "On My Balcony"
by the band, Flunk.
Six months from now when I look back on the summer of 2013,
I will think of those songs and those records,
I will think of how hard I was trying to stay afloat and become
a better person, for nobody but myself,
and how good of a job I was doing with the action
of letting go of things that were toxic for me.
I will think of blonde hair and dancing in the rain, hot sweaty shifts
running around a crowded restaurant, being sad about how much time
I still have left until I get to see my favourite person again, and I will think of
boredom and sunburns and bad poems and love and hope and willingness
to overcome fear. And music. So much music.
This isn't really a poem but more of a very lengthy acknowledgment
regarding the importance of timing, especially perfect timing,
and how even bad timing is usually disguised as
perfect timing in the end.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
~
*...he dreamt of her,
the one who could dance about
twin suns in cantina lace,
course through the veins
like power converters,
and scare far more
than a pack of raiders on the prowl.
...she who laid out
in the sands of Anchorhead,
and became a seductive sculpture,
her howls mixing with the wind
through Beggar's Canyon,
and turning into flame,
ascended like nomadic campfire
in an ocean of night
as far off as Mos Eisley.
...the one resembling Camie,
who bought farm water
for her off-world thirst,
he dreamt of her, you know,
he dreamt they would inevitably marry,
and settle down deep in the feral
of their desert love.*
~
Mar 4, 2023
Mar 4, 2023 at 1:21 PM UTC
St Simons Island, Georgia USA
East Beach, 12/4/2011
"Your focus determines your reality." —Qui-Gon Jinn
Witnessing an
amazing low-tide
phenomenon,
as if a walkway to
a parallel world
has suddenly appeared,
extending one-half mile
from East Beach
out to sea
People are slowly
gathering, walking, stopping,
stooping, staring in silence,
speaking softly—
I'm as eager
as Simon Peter
to join them, yet
somewhat afraid of
walking where
there has been
only seawater
minutes before—
Chattering dolphins
beckoning in the distance
instill confidence
So I join them,
stepping from the
beach onto the
other-worldly terrain,
first 42 steps confirming
we are not alone!
Surrounded by
a menagerie of
sand ***** clams,
beach flea amphipods,
sea roach isopods,
ghost, hermit, and
fiddler ***** even
cannonball jellyfish—
shades of the
Mos Eisley Cantina
on Tatooine
in miniature
But beware of
semidiurnal
tidal cycles—
Twice a day
at high tide
the sea, like an
unstable vortex
of a Chappa'ai,
consumes the
phenomenon,
even the beach itself
to the edge of
the dune
"The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience." —Frank Herbert
"So long and thanks for all the fish!" —Farewell message from exiting dolphins, translated by Douglas Adams
Mark Toney ©️ 2023
May 21, 2023
May 21, 2023 at 11:31 PM UTC
the day was spent
posting old, neglected
poetry
& ******* around on
tumblr
listening to eisley
sing about
never growing up
the babe is rocking himself
in the big yellow chair
grinning at me
its so frightening to be someone's
pure guidance
every
day
the husband is cursing at
modern warfare 3
unpoetic
harsh
rude
I'll never understand why
he calls me childish
we don't sleep around here
& when we do
no one is there to hear it
I have bad words on my
tongue tonight
& nowhere to put them
but in songs
no one listens to when I post
them on facebook
I'm addicted to this exhibitionism.
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 1:18 AM UTC
The floor boards are torn
I hear laughter I fear noise
Red lights ring out so loud
But yet I’m deaf to the sound
With the windows blasted out
The rain drops drop
The boy sits still
While ropes hang low
He holds her hand
While he demands she follows
Follow him down to the laughing city
Where the people are changing all their minds it’s crazy
Hold on...don’t talk
The walk is dreary unpleasant
But just know this one boy would do anything
For you...for you
I would for you...for you I would loose control
Not look back nor think of tomorrow
Just trust me I know...
We’ll walk for what might feel like forever
Just know the deathblow will be beautiful...
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC