I captured lightning after years
Of trying—pulled the trigger when
Nothing was in my sight but fears:
The wandering fear suspended in black night,
The fear of women, fear of men,
The fear of failure, fear that fate
Had wanted clockwise circles then
When I instead passed right.
So I in darkness hoped the gate
Of gods retired from careers
Of rage would not unlock too late.
They turned the key—gave me this light.
The 24 daily poems are done. Time to relax a bit and only post weekly. New poems will go up every Wednesday to honour Odin and the nine days he spent dangling from Yggdrasil so he could learn about runes, poetry, and how to be a better Dungeon Master.
The Magician
Equipment’s ready: burner on,
Test tubes out, chemicals prepared;
My elements are marching pawns
To help me order chaos—dare
Frame a creation in strict lines
Looking unreal as clouds can be
Because the details are too fine:
They’re fallen drops of mercury
Exploding on the classroom floor
Vanished somewhere—to limbo streams
Of non-existent waiting or
To strands of web, forgotten meme.
The beasts—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—
Bellow fire, water, earth, and air
To fuel my furnace for divine
Blows from Mjöllnir. With Thor’s brawn
My brain expands but does not tear
As new forms merge from old decline.
The Ravens watch—from Odin’s Tree—
The Coin turn Cup and Wand turn Sword,
While I, Magician, hiss to seem
To speak, and smile my work to see:
Another room, another door
To build a Palace in your dreams.
4 8 15 16 23 42
I bet the numbers, slide my chips
Into their squares and step away
To watch the Roulette gods decide
Who wins this battle of the war.
Odd or Even. Red. Black. Heads. Tails.
Statistics. Probability.
The ball is from my Grade 1 class
And plays Duck-Duck-Goose with the wheel
Until she finds the boy she likes.
He’s 23. And metaphors
Don’t matter anymore. I won
And money made the others lost.
This is based on my experience of winning (a small amount of) money playing the Lost numbers at Roulette in Las Vegas. For those of you who are fans of Roulette wondering how I could bet on 42 when it’s not on the board, I bet on 2 (4 and 2) instead.
I possess enough common sense to call
Myself fatidic and know that it’s a lie.
Image is from Denys Arcand's Jesus of Montreal
fa·tid·ic
adjective
Relating to or characterized by prophecy; prophetic.
[Latin fātidicus : fātum, prophecy, doom; see fate + dīcere, to say; see deik- in Indo-European roots.]
write with lightning 