The Sunday Poem: Clouds From Above
(Visited 4619 times) The Sunday Poem
Nov 062005
Honoring all the clichés,
Evanescing like cottony candy,
Like cotton itself, soft twists torqued,
Tangled, aloft with imagined
Wild dragons–their qualia lie:
Our visions, our worships,
Are tepid, not rapid; have ice
In their bellies, not fire.
As we claw our way,
Damp and surrounded, through
Serpentine guts, grim gray tangles
Of mist, I see Tintagel’s battle
Is fought yet again:
We are lords of the sky;
We have burst from our stone;
This is dynasty.
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Bartle?s 5 most important folks in virtual worlds [IMG] Posted by Raph’s Website [HTML][XML][PERM] on Fri, 20 Jul 2007 03:12:38 +0000
I wrote this the last time I flew to Asia, my head still full of Chinese dragons and the tallest building in the world. As we went through the amazing-looking clouds, I couldn’t help but think how cold, wet, and basically depressing they are, even though from the ground we once thought them fluffy and warm and magical. And that led me on a train of thought about how our perspective as humans has changed, over time, and how perhaps, really, we are the mythological creatures that assert dominion over nature.
I ended up using Western mythology (Arthurian specifically) because that was the best-known clash of dragons…