The mighty ox is a picture of resilience, certainty and admitted stubbornness. I had a lot of fun with this interpretation of the zodiac.
Having imagined the summit, we have promised ourselves to the climb. Limb and life married to the steep steps of our greatest adventures. I hold the colour of my mothers flag between my teeth and meet this faceless giant with hue of whose who from our family tree. I bless these fruits to this giant so clearly raised in a relm void of all of us, uneducated in the ways hoof and horn, hurling its thornless words in hopes of discouraging our nature. The toil of the migration finds us more fit for triumph than the sight of a days breaking, more trying to the cause than the pulse of the river run, more stubborn against the odds than than the timing of seasons cutting their course.
The pitch of the mountains song has no relevance to the heart of the driven herd. Darting north and south to the rhythm of legacy and tradition, no soured stream of doubt can dilute our verve. The fire feeds our bones with the letter of its law. Till the last morsel of fuel, we will feed this furnace, a fierce blaze to raze the hurdles that dare a chance and living. All apologies reserved for the timbre of conflicting dissonance. We hear you graze the flanks of our bulls, grazing on deep seeded dues, we need more we than you to be done with these deeds, so accept the rhetoric reserved for the “other” and hold your tongue.
However long this winding whisper runs, the sound of the finish is power. How can the marrow of the me soften at the sound of sleep when the pastures are promised ten fold at the top. Paved with the nectar of peach blossom, our fetish for the sweeter side of effort drives the herd. Together we claim the finish, nature has offered us strength and the endurance to conquer the miles, to conquer this journey through the years.
A series of interpretations based on The Chinese Zodiac.
Two months ago I pressed a promise into words. While sitting besides myself I was struck with an idea cradling a wealth of creative pasture. My “Journey through the years” collection would be my opening into an interesting perspective. My enthusiasm was tested quickly, my tongue recoiled at the richness of this morsel of a muse, my keys stuttered into an inertia that has offered nothing but silence onto these pages. While the year has still so much to offer, I will shy away no longer. Lets list together the years.
There will be poetry, prose and open ended letters, however the year speaks best. I wont know what vessel each piece of this zodiac will fall in, but I will find a way to offer it forward.
For our first of the years, here is our first.
Under the banner of allegiance, I can lead you where you need. With my back to the west I will welcome the new beginnings, we shall forget the taste of hunger. In all the ways I championed to be the first I can offer sweetness into your season.
This will be ours to claim, the year that opens hope. I have sampled the soured pearls of the vine, believe me when I steer you safe from sour fruit. We can head fully into the onlookers and mingle as one of them, as though cut from common stock we can stoke our value from wherever there is voice. Steadily and stern, wary of the wayward few.
Point easterly, north and south and welcome the coming sun. Light needs very little to argue for its life. There is no head way to be made for rootless quadrilles, no slight of speak to bite into if we believe our motive just. The sun speaks a language without refute. Light is light.
Our year yields a bouquet of the most flavour, I list my luck on the life of the Lilly. She warns me with her pail gaze when winter rounds the bend, then we are free find for ourselves shelter. If the world lives as colourful as this beautiful sentiment of golds, greens, and blues. Then dawn your suns, pastures and skies, to rally our lucky stars.
These will be the banners of our years. Coursing through the rivers of time.
Finally we have reached the end. If you have kept in touch with all the latest develooments in the world of all thing space you would have deemed yesterdays post the final entry in my poems for planets. This isn’t the case.
When I studied the solar system in school, all those years ago, I was taught 9 planets. There was a whole mnemonic device to help me remember, till this day I fail to forget. I stay true to my original 9, here I offer to you some poetry for distant Pluto.
Lingering at the very edge of our solar system Pluto follows hus course. Having been demoted to the rank of Dwarf planet in 2006 pluto only gets an honorary mention in the conversation of planets. It’s made primarily of over water and some rock. When I say some rock, I really do mean some rock. Pluto is home to more water mass than all of earths oceans combined, despite being considerably smaller. While Pluto makes it’s rounds, there lives a moment that offers it a chance at possessing an atmosphere. It drifts close enough to the sun to allow the heat of to melt it’s stores of ice. Crystal glaciers turn into coursing streams.
Mythologically Pluto is the god of the underworld. If you wish me to offer a Greek comparison, as I have done for most of my planets, I would have to offer up Hades. It’s a fitting position in the system for the overseer of the after world. Tucked away from the light and close to the blackness of this eternal night.
My plan was to book end this series with two Haikus. Short sweet meditations on the two poles, The Sun and the brother of Poseidon and Zeus.
With these words we part from an interesting journey through space.
I hope you enjoy my parting gift.
Cast out to shadows,
Frozen away in Hades.
Weeping at the sun.
P.N. Feel free to revisit the rest of the series. Which has been your favourite? What new piece of knowledge have you been able to take away from these Poems?
As the days roll on, here we stand. Keeping to given course and moving into the closing phase of this saga. Writing for todays post was a gentle reminder that depth is a hairs bredth away. This pursuit words allows me to step into a world wilder than I deemed true.
I refuse to break from the format my initial plan had set out of for each of the 9 planets. Looking into the form I had chosen for Neptune tested my focus and creativity.
Not too long ago I discovered a poetry style called erasure. Its a form of found poetry which involves taking a body of text that already exists and prying a new piece of work out of it, erasing words to leave only the words I wish to inclulde. There in Lies my challenge.
Ill begin by saying a few words about the planet in question today.
Neptune is the 8th planet form the sun. This distance kept it hidden from the acients until 1846. Its one of the ice giants, meaning a ball of hydrogen and other gases. Being the smallest of this family, it still has mass to it, making up for its size in density. Its a little ways off from earth, we originally worked out its positioning using mathamatical predictions, only one spacecraft has flown past neptune, so there is plenty more to be known about this planet.
Mythologically Neptune has been deemed the god of the sea. The greek God poseidon is Neptune, Neptune in the Greek god Poseidon, Trident and all. He was one of the 3 brothers (Zeus, Poseidon and Hades) who retired the titans, he ruled over the oceans. We can safely associate all things aquatic to this deity
My challenge Ivolved taking a piece of existing text to work with. I used an excerpt from “The Voyage Out” by Virginia Wolff, whittling out a poem for Neptune. Truly an exercise in obscurity.
For those who dare to disregard convention, read on.
P.N I will be sharing my meditation on this Found poem on my Facebook page: TheBlissfulNomad
This series was meant to have been a weekly affair. I wanted to engage with you, the reader while sharpening my sword, so weather the quiet months while I find the words to share. I have had a few hard lessons to learn in these passing months, I’m hoping my future serial posts live up to the my original intentions. There are only 3 planters left to play with in this series. Let us end in this in style.
Let us allow Uranus to revive the project, this is an interesting character to resume the flow. It’s the only planet that is leant over on its side. It’s axis is tipped at a peculiar 98 degrees. Its earned its name as the “Ice Giant” for a very obvious reason. It doesnt have a surface per say, its a has giant of hydrogen and ice. This is a cold cold cold place.
Like many of the planets it has moons that orbit it, the names of this planet deserves a whole post for themselves, they are named after characters by Williams Shakespeare and Alexander Pope.
The mythology behind the planets is a wild and crazy winding road, Uranus is no exception to this. The god of the sky/heaven courted his mother (Gaia) to sire the titans who in turn birthed more familiar deities like Zeus and Poseidon. The Mythological aspect of our solar system is colored with oddities that are guaranteed to fascinate.
Late me waste no more of our time together and share this Ice Giants tribute in this, My Poems for Planets.
You sleep as you sweep through the motions,
Jaundiced from frozen emotions.
Your orbit is plagued
By a hoard from the stage.
You play the Oedipus who sired commotion.
Welcome fellow bloggers, readers and nomadites. This journey into the deep black vastness of our solar system lands us on a Titan. Our previous subject Jupiter is followed by Saturn. When we can separate Saturn from the other nine planets by its great rings. It has over 30 rings and 62 monds. This planet has been known to man for a long ol time. It iz visible in the sky with the naked eye.
Obviously we had to touch on some mythology to add depth to this mighty planet. This planet opens the door to some interesting family affairs. The planet Saturn is linked to Chronos, who was … dum dum dum, a Titan King. Chronos or Saturn was the God of Time.
Now this Titan is tied up in all manners of madness. He had castrated in father (Uranus) and was cautious about his children doing wrong by him, so he swallowed a bunch of them. Eventually there was some kind of family revolt and heads rolled, I couldn’t make this stuff up, it was a family feud for the ages. Essentially we have his Son (Jupiter) and his father (Uranus) either side of him. This might explain why Saturn rotates at such a high speed, hes busy keeping an eye out for each of those two.
Without further delay, here it is folks.
Your past has caused you mischief,
your paranoia looms.
Your patricide has turned the tide
and stalks your many moons.
You stretch your crystal rings
to deter your cunning seed.
You dizzy yourself in vain,
You are the last of a stunning breed,
You are tracing that orbit slowly,
you continue to master time.
Devouring all that fades
Chronos your power binds.
You are living between your kin
Your father and sun for flanks.
Each plotting some hidden sin,
there is power inside your ranks.
Cronus, as old as time
You have been known by many a man.
Since forever before my father,
We can see you from where we stand.
Even as the nights close out without a whisper of life across these pages, there forever remains the lingering promise of content. I never forget.
We are resuming the poetic planetary exploration with a look at Jupiter. This gas giant is the largest planet in our solar system. Methodologically Jupiter is the ruler of the sky, he bares close relations from the Greek Zeus, armed with a lightning bolt he sits at the throne.
Jupiter is the biggest planet in our solar system. Characterized by a gassy atmosphere, which earns it the name Gash Giant, and its sports a bunch a few rings and a lot of moons. Jupiter has the largest mood going. Ganymede, Jupiter’s largest moon, is larger than both Pluto and Mercury. How regal.
Without further delay let me get into it.
I present to you…
Jutting your royal rings into the thicket of this night,
Undying is your might that conjures that cutting light.
Pirouetting moons of many, score the air you breathe,
Inspecting your gaseous skies, in cries of “Glory Be!”
Titan features has this Ganymede who watches where you sleep
Eagle in eye, mighty in frame he rose from Zeus’ keep.
Raging for an age is the storm inside your heart,
the great red spot that rules the thickest of this night.