I am like a wizard still-
I have not changed
From when I’d utter incantations
To force a little change.
Now I utter words-
A bent word
Sends me across this earth
To elf land in a second
And other places of worth.
One bent thought is all I need
To double my mindset,
And be in the realm of the new
Where goose honks become
The mutterings of accented foreigners
I choose not to fathom.
One call can bring me back
Or I can address others from there-
Usually I record it and tell it later.
I.
Snake-ribbons lightly propelled themselves
Around a transparent sphere that encased
Six marble-headed sprites and me.
Six more clear spheres floated
Amid snakes and threads.
A hard hammer cracked open our
Sphere and we fell onto a
Wavy platform that
Hovered just above the pancake-layered floor.
Ribbons wrapped around each orb.
Then a rubber horn
Blew us
Onto the top of
A 3rd sphere.
We fell inside
And saw that it was actually
Fiber-thin poles arranged
In a lattice shape that
Snagged the spheres and
Made them seem to float.
Suddenly the lattice bowed,
As if viewed through a water ripple,
And the balls dropped
Through the warped-open spaces.
The ribbons weaved a garland through
The lattice frame that
Tightened into a taut pattern
When the lattice unbent to its
Former cubic shape.
Three ribbons billowed into large loops
Through which cords passed
As if threading needle-eyes.
A curl-twisted knot draped
Over the cubic order.
The shattered sphere’s sharded remains
Were a sparkling matt on the floor
Below.
A gray disc appeared; its placement
Centered the lattice,
Balanced the loops,
And ordered the knot.
II.
The morphing shapes seemed like the
Shifting clouds of a fast sunset,
Where apples were snagged in
Lattice branches,
And bobbing moths left ribbony trails.
We dropped to the soft soil
When our apple sphere cracked, freeing
Us to smell fresh leaves.
Then a fresh apple grew around us
And levitated up to snag itself to
The branches which became lucent fibers
In a cubic mesh, and the looping
Moth trails were lavender ribbons
Used as bull’s-eyes for black snaking cords,
And we heard the faint tinny screams
Of other trapped parties
In distant orbs where hammers flung themselves
Randomly about, sporadically cracking into
A sphere or tangling up in a ribbon-
Snagged until a scissor came twirling by
To shear the ribbons,
Or until the forming ganglia knot
Smothered us:
Then our sphere would crack and we’d fall
Like eggs from a nest,
Shattering on the pebbles where we’d face
A large world full of towering columns and menacing lizards.
We would search for holes to hide in
And the holes would become spheres that floated back to lattice-supported orbits
Ribbons wailed all over;
Hammers flew with glory-
Until the trapped spheres slowly eased their struggle
And the lattice took greater control
Ending the wild freedom
Of the orange planets and playground children.
We were trapped again
Then a meteor hit and we were all
Hurled like beams
Radiating from a star.
I landed in a maple tree’s canopy and drooped
There for days, until a squirrel woke me
With its licking.
I climbed down the tree and saw
A beech-maple forest with reflector lakes
Squirrels, and butterflies.
I stayed.
Let’s find a field,
Let’s find a field
As yellow as
A ‘Yield’ sign,
And watch stars wink,
Watch planets blink
As constantly as
‘Don’t Walk’ signs;
Then harness beetles,
Ride on beetles
As glossy as
Red Mustangs
Across the forests
To find the river
Whose pitch is like
A sparrow’s twang.
Then after a jaunt,
Head back to the city
That teems like
A silver mead
To climb the spires,
Scale the spires
Pointed like
Whittled reeds;
Then board a train car
And ride in that car
Like writhing along
In a snake.
Out of the city
And into a garden,
To finally stop
By a lake.
Air bubbles up
From our breath to the sky.
Air bubbles down
When snow drops to the ground.
Hands reach up
When we fondle the orbs.
Hands reach down
When god leads us around.
Souls drop up
From our bodies to clouds.
Souls drop down
When stars fall to the ground.
In transition,
Our souls are friendless;
Heaven’s exchanges
Are balanced and endless.
Upon the hedge-lined night,
I hadn’t a sight decreed,
Only cat’s yowls, gunshot cracks,
The moans of orgies,
Murderous shrieks, howling wolves,
Honking horns that move,
Like the Chatanooga Choo Choo
Slid along asphalt grooves,
The rumbling wheels of chariots,
The fluttering fruit bat’s wings,
The unruffling of maple trees,
And patter of crawling things.
Silent boats glide out of port,
Fairy wings they flitter,
Lone violins grind out their song
Near candlelights that flicker.
The rise and fall of a couple’s song
Like passing Indian canoes,
The broken cracks of maddened men
Who tap-dance on their boots.
An abandoned wife wails away,
Her husband crinkles night,
From dwarven, wobbling, drunkard steps
And ghastly winces of fright.
A plum tree dashes to 10,000 feet
And flashes its fruit like a UFO,
Like antiaircraft flak,
Like bubbles popping,
Then returns.
A tulip flits to 10,000 feet
And fans its petals like a peacock,
Spins like a pinwheel,
Then returns.
One cherry blossom flits to 25,000 feet,
Spark showers its petals,
Spins like a motor,
Then returns.
Each tree takes a trip,
Each shines queerly,
Each returns.
Each creature finds a perch
And follows closely
The trees as they burn.
The truculent titan controlling the sleeping maiden is fierce.
The gentle giant, softly peering over the hilltop at the nearby festival, is kind and endearing.
Prettiness and pure color, enough to make impressionists bawl, protrude in dark-matter jets from the Waterhouse, Hunt, and Rossetti masterworks. They lack much in pure expression, and are somewhat of a broken link, but, have re-coalesced in an immeasurable impression and influence on modern fantasy.
Begin your exploration of the Pre-Raphaelites at the site known for its splendid 'dump files' of information, easily searched, easily accessed, easily saved for offline, everything in one window pane, everything to kindle further interest:
Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood at Wikipedia
Enjoy!
Continuing on the journey detailed in various posts in the antiaging4geeks blog, immortal lover and disorganized townsfolk pilot the urn to a habitable moon orbiting Rigel-4. Silver ponds instigate a powerful shoreleave urge among the townspeople. The musician guides the spheres with sweet melodies. The fair youth is at the helm.
Alternating waves pulse rapidly across the vacuum and over the urn's puzzling curlicues. Hyperspace deconstructs into modules and boxes, eventually skidding across the fields, leaving a trail of nazca lines and a broad ufo nest behind.
