Earth sinks in the sea, the sun turns black,
Cast down from Heaven are the hot stars,
Fumes reek, into flames burst,
The sky itself is scorched with fire.

I see Earth rising a second time
Out of the foam, fair and green;
Down from the fells fish to capture,
Wings the eagle; waters flow.
- from the Völuspá

Dreamtime
Crashing waves set the scene: the old man struggles forth,
Hauling now his fishing dreams; his old boat wallows deep.
Some things must be seen.

Creaking bones pain the Celt; the Scotsman hones his axe.
Scars run deep throughout his pelt; he dreams of battles past.
Some things must be felt.

First two steps, and then a third, the fyrdmen march in ranks.
Dreaming of the kings own word, the levy waits for war.
Some things must be heard.

Fisherfolk brave the sea, warriors raid their foes
Soldiers drill for victory; poets weave their dreams.
Some things just must be.
- March 18, 1988

The Sidhe considered him slowly, from head to toe. "Shall I tell you what you have left out?"
     "Have I left something out?"
     "Nothing that would matter." The Sidhe reined Dathuil aside. "I take your bargain."
     Caith had his sword still in his hand. He rammed it into its sheath and felt all his aches and hurts. He looked up again at the Sidhe, cold at heart. "What did I leave out, curse you? What did I forget?"
     "You are not apt to such bargaining," said the phooka, there in young man's shape, leaning naked against a tree at his right hand. "I will tell you, mac Sliabhin. You forgot to ask your life."

     "Oh," Caith said. "But I didn't forget."
     "How is that?" said the fair Sidhe.
     "If you want some use out of your curse, you can't kill me too soon, now can you? It would rob you of your revenge."
     The phooka laughed, wild laughter, a mirth that stirred the leaves. "O mac Sliabhin, Caith, fosterling of murderers and thieves, I love thee..."
excerpt from C.J. Cherryh's "The Brothers," in Visible Light

Moonrise
I AWOKE in the Midsummer not to call night, ' in the white and the walk of the morning:
The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe ' of a finger-nail held to the candle,
Or paring of paradisaïcal fruit, ' lovely in waning but lustreless,
Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, ' of dark Maenefa the mountain;
A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, ' entangled him, not quit utterly.
This was the prized, the desirable sight, ' unsought, presented so easily,
Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, ' eyelid and eyelid of slumber.
- Gerard Manley Hopkins

Excerpt:
In Florida, nearly all the Republican presidential candidates promoted private
companies sending astronauts into space. Several companies are building private
spaceships. Commercial space companies taking over the job of getting Americans
into low Earth orbit is a cornerstone of the Obama space plan. But, again, money
has been an issue. For example, NASA received $406 million in its current budget
for private space programs. Obama had asked Congress for $805 million.
From here:
Experts say Gingrich moon base dreams not lunacy
January 31, 2012 By SETH BORENSTEIN , Associated Press
http://www.physorg.com/news/2012-01-experts-gingrich-moon-base-lunacy.html

Shinto
When sorrow lays us low
for a second we are saved
by humble windfalls
of the mindfulness or memory:
the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,
that face given back to us by a dream,
the first jasmine of November,
the endless yearning of the compass,
a book we thought was lost,
the throb of a hexameter,
the slight key that opens a house to us,
the smell of a library, or of sandalwood,
the former name of a street,
the colors of a map,
an unforeseen etymology,
the smoothness of a filed fingernail,
the date we were looking for,
the twelve dark bell-strokes, tolling as we count,
a sudden physical pain.

Eight million Shinto deities
travel secretly throughout the earth.
Those modest gods touch us--
touch us and move on.
- Jorge Luis Borges, tr. Hoyt Rogers

Shinto
Cuando nos anonada la deschida,
durante un segundo nos salvan
las aventuras ínfimas
de la atención o de la memoria:
el sabor de una fruta, el sabor del agua,
esa cara que un sueño nos devuelve,
los primeros jazmines de noviembre,
el anhelo infinito de la brújula,
un libro que creíamos perdido,
el pulso de un hexámetro,
la breve llave que nos abre una casa,
el olor de una biblioteca o del sándalo,
el nombre antiguo de una calle,
los colores de un mapa,
una etimología imprevista,
la lisura de la uña limada,
la fecha que buscábamos,
contar las doce campanadas oscuras,
un brusco dolor físico.

Ocho millones son las divinidades del Shinto
que viajan por la tierra, secretas.
Esos modestos númenes nos tocan,
nos tocan y nos dejan.
- Jorge Luis Borges

Thou from whom my sentiment rarely strays,
ancient sarcophagi, I salute you,
conduit where exultant water of Roman days,
like a wanderer's melody, yet flows through,

or yonder tombs, open as the eyes
of a happy shepherd glad to rise
- wherein pale dead nettle and silence lies -
out of which flutter forth charmed butterflies.

All that is wrested from doubt's dark den
I salute: the voices which once more flower
after knowing silence's ways.

Do we know, or do we not, friend?
Both sides are framed by the reluctant hour
and chiseled on the faces of men.
- from Rainer Maria Rilke's
"Sonnets to Orpheus" (tr. Robert Hunter)

Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more."
~ How The Grinch Stole Christmas, Dr. Seuss (Theodor Seuss Geisel)

Meditatio
When I carefully consider the curious habits of dogs
I am compelled to conclude
That man is the superior animal.

When I consider the curious habits of man
I confess, my friend, I am puzzled.
- Ezra Pound

Come Again?
With apologies to Yeats...*
Things at camp are fine; I like the place;
Fall has made the leaves so red. We are
Apart from the bustle of the world. I like the pace.
The counselors awake us, and the rare
Center of the camp is where we meet.
Cannot say the food is bad; we always
Hold out for seconds. And work and play are fun,
Mere diversions in the day. It almost stays
Anarchy. The only question now
Is when we’ll all leave here. When we are freed,
Loosed on our friends and home, we all will bow,
Upon our leaving, and then we all shall read
The letters we have writ. We soon shall see
world, and folk, and all we hope to be.
- c. February 23, 2002

Jabberwocky
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
- Lewis Carroll
(Charles Lutwidge Dodgson)

Shinto
When sorrow lays us low
for a second we are saved
by humble windfalls
of the mindfulness or memory:
the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,
that face given back to us by a dream,
the first jasmine of November,
the endless yearning of the compass,
a book we thought was lost,
the throb of a hexameter,
the slight key that opens a house to us,
the smell of a library, or of sandalwood,
the former name of a street,
the colors of a map,
an unforeseen etymology,
the smoothness of a filed fingernail,
the date we were looking for,
the twelve dark bell-strokes, tolling as we count,
a sudden physical pain.

Eight million Shinto deities
travel secretly throughout the earth.
Those modest gods touch us--
touch us and move on.
- Jorge Luis Borges, tr. Hoyt Rogers

Shinto
Cuando nos anonada la deschida,
durante un segundo nos salvan
las aventuras ínfimas
de la atención o de la memoria:
el sabor de una fruta, el sabor del agua,
esa cara que un sueño nos devuelve,
los primeros jazmines de noviembre,
el anhelo infinito de la brújula,
un libro que creíamos perdido,
el pulso de un hexámetro,
la breve llave que nos abre una casa,
el olor de una biblioteca o del sándalo,
el nombre antiguo de una calle,
los colores de un mapa,
una etimología imprevista,
la lisura de la uña limada,
la fecha que buscábamos,
contar las doce campanadas oscuras,
un brusco dolor físico.

Ocho millones son las divinidades del Shinto
que viajan por la tierra, secretas.
Esos modestos númenes nos tocan,
nos tocan y nos dejan.
- Jorge Luis Borges

Pluto Waltzes
at the edge partnered in eccentricity
embracing a moon-spouse in the icy darkness
twirling oddball lovers oblivious
to the natural turnings of the universe
dancing out of step, leaning askew
hearing the flutes of a minuet
while the solar system fox trots

to tunes of terrestrial worlds & gas giants.
Being neither, two faces eternally locked
whirling a two hundred and forty-eight year old
dance tour & as heat increases, steamy
endearments become enveloping methane clouds
bubbling with nitrogen before do-si-do-ing
into the winter of atmospheric snowfall.
by Deborah P. Kolodji

The Poet Loves a Mistress
But Not to Marry
- Robert Herrick
I DO not love to wed,
Though I do like to woo;
And for a maidenhead
I'll beg and buy it too.

I'll praise and I'll approve
Those maids that never vary;
And fervently I'll love,
But yet I would not marry.

I'll hug, I'll kiss, I'll play,
And, cock-like, hens I'll tread,
And sport it any way
But in the bridal bed.

For why that man is poor
Who hath but one of many,
But crown'd he is with store
That, single, may have any.

Why then, say, what is he,
To freedom so unknown,
Who, having two or three,
Will be content with one?

I TOLD YOU that I was charmed with her in most particulars.

There were some that did not please me so well.

She was above the middle height of women. I shall begin by describing her.
She was slender, and wonderfully graceful. Except that her movements were
languid--very languid--indeed, there was nothing in her appearance to
indicate an invalid. Her complexion was rich and brilliant; her features
were small and beautifully formed; her eyes large, dark, and lustrous;
her hair was quite wonderful, I never saw hair so magnificently thick and
long when it was down about her shoulders; I have often placed my hands
under it, and laughed with wonder at its weight. It was exquisitely fine
and soft, and in colour a rich very dark brown, with something of gold.
I loved to let it down, tumbling with its own weight; as, in her room,
she lay back in her chair talking in her sweet low voice, I used to fold
and braid it, and spread it out and play with it. Heavens ! If I had
but known all! from Sherdidan Le Fanu's Carmilla

Wendling
No matter the winds I bind with strings and knots
within my bags, or whether the way I tack
and sail against the headlong gale, the night
is my sole mate, as into its arms I sail.

No matter the trail or virgin blaze I trek
across the land, or whither I go and stop
and sing as through its woods I go, my path
is my own, and shared 'tis not, alas.

The Norse cast runes, the Finns sing runes, and Uller
wanders both, but like that eastern hunter
I am without horns nor folk; I wander free
But only free, the night is mine own too.

No future but my own I see, my own
I will refute; and yet I walk it still.
- July 6, 2007

It not infrequently happens that something about the earth, about the sky,
about other elements of this world, about the motion and rotation or even
the magnitude and distances of the stars, about definite eclipses of the
sun and moon, about the passage of years and seasons, about the nature
of animals, of fruits, of stones, and of other such things, may be known
with the greatest certainty by reasoning or by experience, even by one
who is not a Christian.

It is too disgraceful and ruinous, though, and greatly to be avoided, that
he [the non-Christian] should hear a Christian speaking so idiotically on
these matters, and as if in accord with Christian writings, that he might
say that he could scarcely keep from laughing when he saw how totally
in error they are.

In view of this and in keeping it in mind constantly while dealing with the
book of Genesis, I have, insofar as I was able, explained in detail and set
forth for consideration the meanings of obscure passages, taking care not
to affirm rashly some one meaning to the prejudice of another and perhaps
better explanation.
from St. Augustine's The Literal Interpretation of Genesis (1:19–20), A.D. 408

With the scriptures it is a matter of treating about the faith. For that reason,
as I have noted repeatedly, if anyone, not understanding the mode of divine
eloquence, should find something about these matters [about the physical
universe] in our books, or hear of the same from those books, of such a
kind that it seems to be at variance with the perceptions of his own
rational faculties, let him believe that these other things are in no way
necessary to the admonitions or accounts or predictions of the scriptures.

In short, it must be said that our authors knew the truth about the nature
of the skies, but it was not the intention of the Spirit of God, who spoke
through them, to teach men anything that would not be of use to them for
their salvation (ibid., 2:9; I'm using quotes from Catholic.com)

XIX. The Need to Avoid Contempt and Hate.
Now, having talked about the most important of the qualities enumerated above, I want
to discuss the others briefly under this generalization: that the prince should, as I
have already suggested, determine to avoid anything which will make him hated and
despised. So long as he does so, he will have done what he should and he will run no
risk whatsoever if he is reproached for the other vices I mentioned.

He will be hated above all if, as I said, he is rapacious and aggressive with regard
to the property and the women of his subjects. He must refrain from these. As long as
he does not rob the great majority of their property or their honour, they remain
content. He then has to contend only with the ambition of a few, and that can be dealt
with easily and in a variety of ways. He will be despised if he has a reputation for
being fickle, frivolous, effeminate, cowardly, irresolute; a prince should avoid this
like the plague and strive to demonstrate in his actions grandeur, courage, sobriety,
strength. When settling disputes between his subjects, he should ensure that his
judgement is irrevocable; and he should be so regarded that no one ever dreams of
trying to deceive or trick him.

The prince who succeeds in having himself thus regarded is highly esteemed; and
against a man who is highly esteemed conspiracy is difficult, and open attack is
difficult, provided he is recognized as a great man, who is respected by his subjects.
from Machiavelli's The Prince

Midnight Miles
How many miles are in a midnight minute?
How many lives can every second hold?
Why are these paths so long and yet so few?
How can these thoughts walk lonely through the night?

Midnight is a time of artifice;
No star nor moon will mark its passage nigh.
Existing only in the meaning given --
And yet it is so real for humankind.

Alone I think the thoughts of lonely people
So common and so shared in loneliness.
Each one of us is trapped in our own prison --
And though we are the same we do not share.

But this is life, and this is what I'm given.
And when the night brings sleep...
- August 1, 2010