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Of Quasars and Turtle (1 Viewer)

Darkkin

WF Veterans
On the Monarch Tide: A Tale of Quasars and Turtle


The place, a border of cleaved land
there upon rests a clear, damp line—
basalt cliffs fall to nightshade sands

A place where the living fear to be
between the earth and this nowhere
body bound to land and soul to sea

And it was in this place of division
this humble creature first hatched—
a being, like most, faced a decision

Blood chilled by a wicked wind,
she lays on a shell pocked shore
waits for a tide, journey to begin.

Waves lash out with a bitter sting
like those coarse, straggled locks
of a hermit of whom sailors sing

Still she waits in gentle defiance,
for the complete turn of the tide,
held by laws of lunar compliance.

Full and bright, in midnight bloom
the moon calls her to Water’s Edge,
to face life’s battle or an easy doom.

One so simple, easy as falling asleep,
the other, a duty to life and a world
that will one day pass into her keep.

In a deep throated roar, rose a giant,
that fabled of Old Man of the Sea,
hands poised to strike the defiant—

A pair eyes of molten gold lifted,
no fears glinted, for it was alien
to this little soul, emotion shifted.

Old Man paused, stayed the blow
that would have damned the turtle
to mysterious fathoms far below.

So easy to destroy the small thing,
yet, that golden gaze was peaceful
as the lullaby the kingfisher sings.

So the hand of the Monarch Tide,
poised to deliver that fatal strike,
paused, intrigued as turtle defied.

Golden eyes enthralled Old Man,
as from the heart of those waves
he pulled a jar, cast it to the sand.

End o’er end, by shatter and clink
the jar, fogged by salt and old age,
broke upon a stone freeing its ink.

The hatchling looked at that flow,
a river coursing to the ancient sea—
velvet, scarred by fresh moonglow.

A marvel bleeding on the sand bar,
cosmic wonders kept under glass—
waves ceded to the loosed quasar.

Old Man saw what that turtle knew.
Far beyond loggerheads and greens,
she was no beast of the ocean blue.

She as one of the impossible Lores,
the Cosmic Turtle, who one far day,
would become the water and shore.

On her shell the world would ride,
this minute, defiant hatchling, thus
she waited for the Monarch Tide.

Quasar bled to sea and sea to star—
as the Old Man of the Sea smiled,
at the sight of Turtle in the quasar.

No fear, just fresh curiosity alight,
as a contrary turtle caught a wave,
rode Monarch Tide into the night.
 
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apple

WF Veterans
Who are you, Darkkin? This poem is so beautiful and haunting, and brave. It needs to be read out loud. Where is Dylan Thomas? You are such an old soul. For me there is nothing hidden. It can be understood literally but for me can be felt on much deeper levels. Your visuals are like beautiful paintings. Thank you for this poem.
 

Darkkin

WF Veterans
“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” - W.B. Yates

My senses are just a little keener than most...that being said:

Thank you for reading and your kind words. Turtle was almost a competition piece this month, but I changed pieces at the midnight hour. Turtle is a solid piece, but deviated just a little too much from the theme and became a piece truer to itself rather than an established parameter. Turtle is old, one of the very first of the 'Way folk. She has never let me falter, so I owed it to her to do this piece right. Every legend has a beginning and this is where my friend started from.

It is also curious that you bring up Dylan Thomas, personally, I have not read much of his work, but I did read his famous villanelle: Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night. The piece in which Turtle is introduced, oddly enough, is also a villanelle. (I have looked up more of his work online tonight, and he is a writer I am going to have to read more of.)

As to who I am, just a soul who reads too much and occasionally surfs on the shell of a turtle in search of glass rabbits.


 
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