#27 – Aleph

What did you do at the weekend, Fay Roberts? Well, I did the world’s quickest study of the basics of cosmology and the hypothesised end of the universe, then turned it into 14 bouncy lines of poetry. You?

Depending on your thoughts upon the matter
(On which some of our finest minds have views)
We’ll either crunch or freeze or even shatter
(Although to harsher churches, that’s not news).

If space is closed, then gravity will crush us
But if it’s open, we’ll all rip apart
And entropy will see a mighty hush as
In any shape, the cold could kill our heart.

But here’s the thing: we need to weigh our ’verse
And find out if it’s more or less than one.
I simplify, of course, but please don’t curse
The dark that pulls at us has not yet won.

If omega is greater than the first
We might collapse, then bounce back in a burst!

-FR

The “Big Crunch” Graphic from Wikipedia. The vertical axis either demonstrates expansion or contraction, so it’s difficult to tell whether we’re coming or going (I’ll be here all month, enjoy the salad!).

#23 – A Raft of Hope

The Four Worlds legends of the Hopi people tell how the tribe progressed through barbarous, uncouth phases to the Fourth World, through the intervention of Spider Grandmother, who taught them civilisation. In reading around the legends and learning a little more about the Hopi people, I was treated to depictions of some of the deprivations visited on them by various waves of marauders, and couldn’t, in all conscience, ignore this.

No matter what he tells you, here’s the truth:
Kookyangwso’wuuti led you to this place.
You’ve been here since the earth still glowed with youth;
Her intervention summoned you to grace.

Whatever cataclysm shattered hope,
Your ancestors were saved by hollow reeds;
With charity and faith in constant scope,
You’ll go wherever loving kindness leads.

But kind does not mean cowardly or soft;
Pahána learned your spines are formed from stone,
As you were rooted deep in tongue and croft,
And wedded to your quiet spider-crone.

Your legends tell how new tribes rise from rifts;
Cut hair will grow, the earth renews your gifts.

-FR

Spider Woman by Susan Seddon-Boulet. See more of her extraordinary ancient goddess art hosted here by Tutt'Art. Image description in alt-text.

#18 – A Black Box

Even a brief examination of Jewish eschatology reveals many mysteries. “Black box” is how software testing theory describes an unknowable, untestable element of a system.

As we examine endings and beginnings
And how those thoughts have shifted over years
When we strip down the details and the trimmings
You’ll see our history’s what shapes our fears

So where the Norse meet Fate in icy darkness
And others know we’ll fry in fearful heat
We also long for when all this will hurt less
And where our present stress will find defeat

For after all-too clearly pictured strife
And all the scattered children gathered home
Those who’ve suffered earn a pleasant life
Where no-one ever has to be alone.

And if this comfort helps you to be strong
But harms nobody, I can see no wrong.

-FR

The image search for “Jewish black box sunset” brought me many interesting images, especially around use of tefillin, or phylacteries, but this one seemed the most fitting, after all, from an Adobe stock image used on this site about Jewish ideas and ideals in a blog article about women donning tefillin.

#13 – Covenant

CW: interpersonal violence and death. The creation myths of the Cherokee people involve a fair amount of disobedience and sibling issues (and sleep deprivation). Accordingly, this is more “inspired by” than “about”…

On recollecting times my brother struck
(When I would make his doom my fondest wish),
Although with fists and dolls and boards and muck,
At least he never hit me with a fish.

So hard to tell which one of us was wilder,
For both of us were born of bitter blood:
My temper, often loosed, was also milder,
While his, hard-dammed, could cause our home to flood.

Our parents’ secrets broached gave rise to pity,
But shame can turn to rage if not addressed;
And coping looks a lot like being shitty,
When hunting down self-care while sorely stressed.

When yearly mourning falls on stony ground,
More fruitful families should then be found.

-FR

Symbol for Homecoming (from this Thought Catalog article about Native American symbols) – again not citing its sources, so if you have better, and can tell me whether there is one more specifically Cherokee, please let me know and I will amend accordingly. 

#27 - Coils

Nikola Tesla – engineer, inventor, futurist, pigeon-fancier (1856-1943)

He cups my head and tells me I’ll be fine –
He’s built a cage especially for me.
Of all his loves I am the most divine;
To save my life he would pay any fee.

He tells me dreams – of lightning tamed and caught,
Of mankind magnified by unseen waves,
And something else, enshrined in loving thought,
To blast his enemies beyond all graves.

But Nikola no longer musters hosts;
Investors are short-sighted, stunted men –
They doubt his genius, call his visions boasts,
But we know that his star will rise again.

His name will etch the Heavens, scored by nerds
For now he’ll spend his grace on us poor birds.


FR

Tesla, aged 34, circa 1890. Photo by Napoleon Sarony

#19 - The Sun On The Waves

Gráinne Ní Mháille (aka Grace O’Malley) – ‘The Pirate Queen’ (c.1530 – c.1603)

If only I could write Queen Grace a song,
A chant to fill the lungs and swell the sail.
To pin her to a sonnet seems quite wrong –
O’Malley versus English rules? They’ll fail.

This “nurse to all rebellions in the province”
Could most politely be called ‘combative’.
As bare-faced with a priest as with a prince,
She had precisely zero fucks to give.

So hoist the sheets and hoist your flagons high,
And drink to Grace the Bald, the Bold, the Queen;
Three score and ten, still letting bullets fly –
The most audacious pirate ever seen.

To know her is to marvel, and feel blessed;
Her legend still lives on, without arrest.

FR

Grace O’Malley, kicking arse and probably not bothering with names.

#15 - Self Portrait

Sarah Biffin (1784-1850) - painter, portrait artist, performer

I stand before you - three foot one of pride
And stubbornness - been like this since day one.
My statureʼs never something I denied
And though Iʼve strived and lost, Iʼll swear Iʼve won.

Iʼve travelled green roads through this country fair,
Seen England from the backside of a tent.
And though I dazzled all who stopped to stare,
It took a man to beckon my ascent.

Now Iʼve outlined both great and small with smiles,
As much at home with royalty as churls;
With everything Iʼve gained across the miles
I owe so much of this to Dukes and Earls.

The medals, gawps, and namechecks you can keep
Iʼve strength and hard-won hues to wrap my sleep.

FR

Miniature of Sarah Biffen, painted by herself.
Using her mouth.

#7 - Not Conquered Yet

Countess Constance Markievicz – Irish rebel, socialist countess, and first woman elected to Parliament (1868-1927)

Where once you glided forth in muslin gowns,
You wear your uniform with dash and pride.
Where others seek approval, you court frowns;
You’ll not let any fool cut short your stride.

You’ll use – and teach – all skills that come your way;
Sew flags, haul coals, and teach young folk to fight.
And from this stubborn path you will not sway,
Though time and time again constrained from light.

Your bodycount consumes my current thought,
Though I can’t fault your constancy to cause,
And no-one can deny how hard you fought:
Sínn Fein Amháin you gained despite the flaws.

I’ll laud your fire but will not sing your song
And pray the flames it fed won’t rage too long.

FR

“Sínn Fein Amháin” means “Ourselves Alone” in Irish Gaelic - the slogan of various Irish nationalist movements, including the Home Rule campaign. In the Ulster accent it sounds roughly like “Shin Fain Ahvain”.

Massive thanks to various poets (including the rest of the 28 Sonnets Later collective) who gave me feedback and advice on this, especially Serin Thomasin who basically rewrote the penultimate line for me (and then I messed with it again).

#3 - Modus Vivendi

Richard Neville, 16th Earl of Warwick – “The Kingmaker” (22 November 1428 – 14 April 1471)

Three fortunes merged, and then another four,
Have birthed a son who’ll rise in wealth and grace:
The silver thread that underpins the score –
He’s paid the piper, now he calls the pace.

The right of wives twice buys him lands and gold,
Through strife attends the titles he would claim,
And others’ fortunes force him to be bold –
To nothing less than all he’ll raise his aim

But secret love lays low his careful plans,
So now he must away to woo his foes.
His student learned too well and slips his hands,
And off to well-penned infamy he goes.

Unmarked he lies entombed by tangled briars:
Ambition’s knight undone by better liars.

FR