:: :: :: :: terrible dragon: slaying the world one poem at a time :: :: :: ::
Sunday, March 25, 2012
A piece of the sun
Leprechaun Trap For Emma
So here’s the plan. First, we wait, for rain, and lure in what always follows. Waiting is the hardest part, don’t you think? Once we have one, we carve off a good slice being sure to get enough of each color if the thing’s going to work. Then we borrow a piece of the sun from mom’s jewelry box, say a ring or a broach, .22-carat minimum, yellow, dazzling, soft.
Next we find a small iron kettle, one with runic symbols and a handle, place the gold inside, and hang the carved arc of ‘bow from a tree limb directly over it. Then we hide in the bushes and start playing a pennywhistle, quietly at first, then gradually louder. Then we wait again. Waiting is the funnest part, don’t you think?
Between life and legend, we are each delivered to the days we will inhabit. Bodies of breath and becoming, we move through our time as if born to do so. Brave-boned in bluster, we take the small hills abandoned to our victories, flat summits made for brief flags we keep handy in some back pocket.
Yours was the Gascogne majesty of a white plume inscribed with an heir of another’s blood, yours too ignoble and Parisian to ever allow it be forgotten in the hands of a playwright. Yours would be a tale not so much truth as trifle and triumph, your name an echo that sets bells still within these welling ears.
This was your day as it is mine, arrived and departed, as aimless birds cross and recross broken skies like smoke and feathers charged to a purpose unseen from here. Some might call it religion or, worse, a radiance wrought of divine origin the science of your reason will never confer. This becomes destiny and, as you sang, you leave it all to us.
wisdom is worth all we lose to attain it. ~aucassin verdé
i wonder if the artist ever lives his life-—he is so busy recreating it. only as i write do i realize myself. i don't know what that does to life. ~anne sexton
you must acquire the trick of ignoring those who do not like you. in my experience, those who do not like you fall into two categories: the stupid and the envious. the stupid will like you in five years time. the envious, never.~john wilmot, 2nd earl of rochester
art arises when the secret vision of the artist and the manifestation of nature agree to find new shapes. ~kahlil gibran
creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. art is knowing which ones to keep. ~scott adams
those who don't know how to weep with their whole heart, don't know how to laugh either. ~golda meir
i said to my soul, be still,
and wait without hope,
for hope would be hope
for the wrong thing.
wait without love,
for love would be love
of the wrong thing.
there is yet faith;
but the faith and the love
and the hope are all
in the waiting.
wait without thought,
for you are not ready for thought.
so the darkness shall be the light,
and the stillness the dancing.