Saturday, December 01, 2001
This is something I wrote for Bob, the Rocket Scientist, whose own poems are powered by a such a weird mix of jet fuel and carnal obsession that I figured he needed a break...
The Threaded Blaze
The moon shines down on trees prolific
Treacherous fate in the pallid limbs lies,
Night long, the rusty slate Pacific
Knits charms 'neath still expectant skies.
At once, an everywhere of gold reflecting
Up the banks of Beltane fire,
Trails ramp the foxglove miles, injecting
trough and leaf with butterscotch spires.
How read these lights by stretch of all the stars
Or mists that warehouse after night became,
How tick these plumes that chalk and dazzle
To nestle hard by heaven's shantied fame?
To noon the night is the endeavor,
Sweet and sometimes cold, yet we must see,
To dine on light left in our way most clever,
Tossed by steel, but baked with fur, and beak, and thee.
Also, in a boldly non-sequitorian transition (from rocket science to bad science?), I must recommend the 2001 Ignobel Prize Awards broadcast. Who knew you could still patent the wheel at this late date?
posted by Denise at 1:00 PM
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