Tag Archives: tarot

Nine of Pentacles

Her practiced fingers stroke the well-worn keys—

A simple melody with simple ease—

Then reach for fifths to fill the pattern’s run

Alone. No rush. There’s no one else to please:

No judge, no jury, no race to be won.

So she slows—settles to a mournful pace

Reminding her of all the pain it took

To get her here: the lines she had to trace

To rise above and toss away the book

Alone. No rush. There’s no one else to please

And that’s enough. She sets her music’s sun

And beauty echoes from her hard-earned grace…

But sly shadows steal an embarrassed look.

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The Fool

I have spent my life wandering: a tourist in the lives of others. I have become culturally homeless, absorbing the attributes and customs of the countries and the people harbouring me. I carry my anchor up and never look back to a place where it once lay temporarily moored. Each port is free of me, and though someday I may drunk-dial and stay the night, I’ll be gone in the morning.

This life has made me a wiser man: a mariner of the sea of humanity. I see the flaws in your life, and I will subtly help you to share in what I have learned. I know your long-distance relationship will fail. I know you’ll regret listening to your father and studying engineering instead of art. I know your religion is hurting you more than it’s helping. I know the plans you make now don’t mean a thing because they’ll change later. I know you want to have an adventure. I know you.

Face your fears and step off the cliff with me. Jump naked from the top of the waterfall. Swim closer to the shark. Hug the tiger. Eat the mushrooms. Talk to the girl. Write down what you dream. Write down something true.

I thought this life had made me a wiser man, but I never really learned. I was always waiting for a chance to prove my findings wrong, so when I met you, I set down my anchor, ready to ignore what advice I would have given to others. But you cut through the rope and set me adrift. Now my anchor is rusting on the ocean floor, and I don’t know how to stop again even if I wanted to.


Daily Poem 24: The Magician

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.


Daily Poem 12: Fulminate (The Hanged Man)

With lightning skies above an open field,

Do you lie down in loam or hide beneath

The ash tree planted on the tumulus mound?

Do you take comfort in the soil of life

Or in the grafted branches fed with death?

I risk the tree, to hang in Odin’s wake

And face the fulminations of the wronged—

Of those I buried with Time’s eager spade

To wall them off from memory, to free

The limbs to hold another, while entombed

The dead await this rise to punish me.

So now, with lightning skies above, I let them.

fulminate

\FUL-muh-nayt\ , intransitive verb;

 
1. To issue or utter verbal attacks or censures authoritatively or menacingly.
2. To explode; to detonate.

transitive verb:

1. To utter or send out with denunciations or censures.
2. To cause to explode.
Origin:
Fulminate comes from Latin fulminare, “to strike with lightning,” from fulmen, fulmin-, “a thunderbolt.”

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