May 4: "Star Wars" Poem, Book, "Dagobah Meditation"

So, I've only written one Star Wars poem in my life.  I had this idea many years ago of writing an entire book of Star Wars poems.  The poem below was supposed to be the start of the project.  Wrote it.  Never returned to the idea.  I got sidetracked by Bigfoot.  I may return to the idea in the future.

For now, this May the Fourth, Saint Marty has this little meditation . . .

Dagobah Meditation

by:  Martin Achatz

Yoda sends Luke into that place
of swamp and root and snake,
a test to see if he can face
truth, stare it down without
wanting to saw it in half
with light.  Sometimes darkness
breathes like a volcano, looks
like your father, wrecked
by loss.  What force can keep
a man moving when the woman
he’s loved for 62 years can’t
remember the song they danced
to on their wedding day?
He rises at 2 a.m., clamps on a mask,
searches the galaxies
for rebel moons and ice planets,
outposts where memories hole
up to fight a losing battle.
Luke fails his test, lets
himself be pulled into
the gravity of his dad’s collapsing
star.  There is no noise when love
dies.  It just slips away, winks
out, its final light reaching you
years after it’s gone.

May 4: May the Fourth, "Star Wars" Poem, a Nerd

Couldn't resist publishing a little Star Wars poem on this May the Fourth.

Yes, Saint Marty is a nerd, down to his core.  

December 27: In Honor of Carrie Fisher, Star Wars Poem, "Dagobah Meditation"

Poll:  What book should I use next year on the blog?

Book Poll

A year or so ago, I had an idea that I was going to write a whole sequence of poems (maybe a book) based on the Star Wars universe.  I may return to the project one day, although I'm not sure how much Disney or George Lucas would appreciate it.  Not much money in poetry.

For tonight, however, in honor of Carrie Fisher, I present a poem written a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . .

by:  Martin Achatz



Yoda sends Luke into that place
of swamp and root and snake,
a test to see if he can face
truth, stare it down without
wanting to saw it in half
with light.  Sometimes darkness
breathes like a volcano, looks
like your father, wrecked
by loss.  What force can keep
a man moving when the woman
he’s loved for 62 years can’t
remember the song they danced
to on their wedding day?
He rises at 2 a.m., clamps on a mask,
searches the galaxies
for rebel moons and ice planets,
outposts where memories hole
up to fight a losing battle.
Luke fails his test, lets
himself be pulled into
the gravity of his dad’s collapsing
star.  There is not noise when love
dies.  It just slips away, winks
out, its final light reaching you
years after it’s gone.


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