[fire and air] brighid

                near imbolc, a fire festival

tonight, leave out the white flags for her blessing

ancient flight, firelight, moonlight cresting

Imunuri Prompt: Elemental - Conflagration

scribe an offering 
inspired by the element of fire, heat, conflagration

what blazes in you, what moves you QUICKLY, what transmutes, and what are you warming with your flame? what, if incinerated, would grow from your inferno's ashes? write conflagration.


Tags: conflagration, epic-earth, poem, <poet's moniker>

*****
Epic-Earth on Imunuri: An ongoing series of earth-related prompts as part of an Imunuri experiment to dwell repeatedly on a theme and its riffs, and/or the possible poetry challenge, bit by bit, of producing an epic or body of poems...

Image source: Firestorm, Mirror Plateau, 1988, National Park Service, Public Domain on Wikimedia Commons

Lives of Knives

from Homer (about the chariot race)

"at the .... keep from being dragged in case of accident, they carried a falx, a curved knife. ... to the Zephyrs, the Greens to Mother Earth or spring, and the Blues to the sky and ..."

***************************************************************************************************************************

                                             Lives of Knives

                                      Thrust into world of commerce
                                      Knives begin journey
                                          to be handled
                                          to be sharpened
                                          to be dulled
                                            broken, loved and thrown
                                      Mishandled
                                        lives of knives
                                           stuck in targets
                                           stuck to racks
                                           stuck in sheathes
                                           peace tied or not.

After the wreckage: The torrential questions

1. Where have I offered my slander of another
    When I was feeling the most desperate for connection
    And all that was available was an allegiance
    Against a "common enemy" ?

2.  Where have I divided or fractured what
     Knowing it's best and most beautiful truth
     Would remain whole ?

Massive Supersymmetry

decoding

natural as breathing

unseen sight

Higgs boson

unanswered question

(s)

a = morning

b = afternoon

c = evening

d = day

does a + b + c = d

(?)

apparent passage

of time

walks all over

everything

we think

($)

without time

the space

between

things would not

contain monies

(!)

as if those

spaces

did as we think

dark matter

anti matter

(*)

IT previously

not conceived of

not seen

electroweak field

strong interaction

(10−22)

of a second

disassembles

Standard Model*

shaking in its

spin-parity

(¡)

little

do we know

yet beautifully adapt

(we = cognizant)

as/within all forces

(<3)

*the so-called Standard Model of Elementary Particles

Gathered at skirt's edge

from: Lawrence Durrell’s “Pope Joan” this passage on page 24:

“Tell me daughter, he would say, “What is tongue?”

“Air’s whip.”

“What is air?”

“The element of life.”

******************************************************************

Gathered at skirt’s edge

breeze westerly brings

foggy drink to redwood lips

 speaking Muir language  

   scattering

      seeds, blast effervescent

        

squall speaks

“What is sung?”

(near tempestuous bark)

   Miwok!

 “What is sown?”

    air’s hem

  “What is air?”

(gathered at skirt’s edge)

  “The element of life.”

Zephyr

   "What's What? If I knew that, I'd be a sophomore at Purdue." 
         —punchline from an old joke


As deeply as I might dig,
there's deeper digging below.
As empty as the space is,
there's substance in the hollow—
parley of vacuum and wind,

rhythms and their air echoes.
I am not here just because—
at least that's not why alone.
My flight of pitches and yaws
enrolls me, falling, twisting——

So I walk. I sit. My jaws
open gates of sound vectors,
my body of precious flaws,
my brain of texts of lightning—
and only this great wind blows:

to breathe what will happen next,
then to taste how I connect.