Scifi poem

Jul. 13th, 2017 06:13 pm
fayanora: SK avatar (Default)
I found this poem I wrote some unknown time ago. I was considering publishing it, but I wouldn't know where, and it's so much work for so long to do that, I just don't want to go to that much trouble when I could just hit "post entry." And it's such an amazing poem! Told from the perpective of... well, you'll see.

“The Brown, The Green, and The Black”
By = Tempest Alexandria Arts

The white man took the world, spreading out among its lands by sea,
Exploiting all they touched, stealing the land from the people already there.
They stole the New World from the natives, killing the Red Man,
Bringing the Black Man from Africa as slaves to work for them.

They went to China, spread drug addiction and misery, for their profit,
And India for spices they never use, spreading misery to the cradle of writing.
Every bit of land they could find they took for theirs,
Exploiting its people even into the 21st century.

The white man went into space, and found no resources, no people to exploit,
So they grew bored with it, for the most part.
Sure, they sent their robots out to fly by far-off worlds,
Touched the moon a few times with their men, but then stopped.
“There's nothing in space but black,” they said,
Upset they'd made no green.

When the people of India and China started going up there, they scoffed.
“We wasted all that money going up there; they're not learning from our mistakes!”
They told us all there was in space was rocks and more rocks,
Forgetting there was a time when all we had were rocks;
All they let us have as they raped our lands were stones.

Like weeds growing in the sidewalk, they tried to kill us off,
So they could keep our lands for themselves.
But like weeds growing in the sidewalk, we persisted.
For life would always find a way, and we still lived.

We found the barren rocks they'd abandoned,
And grew like weeds among them.
In the black, we – the brown – made green.
The green of growth, as we built giant rotating farms in the sky.

From India and China, from Japan, from Africa,
From the Middle East, from the New World,
All the brown and red and yellow, every color but white,
Worldwide, we came together and spread through the black,
Making stone soup, growing life among the stars.

The white man still owns the earth, but we own the stars,
With colonies on the moon, the asteroids, and Mars.
And the moons of Jupiter and Saturn, and beyond.
Millions of acres of farm and factory, raking in two kinds of green.
Feeding humanity, the breadbasket of the solar system is no longer earth.

And the white man? They are tourists with their cameras,
The old Japanese stereotype passed on to them,
As they marvel at all we've built, at all the green,
The same color they've become, with envy,
Because they were too 'yellow' to make green among the black,
Leaving that to the brown.
To us.
fayanora: SK avatar (Default)
There once was a man in Nantucket,
Who married a man born in Phucket.
He got up one day,
Realized he was gay,
And now he bends over to suck it.
fayanora: Djao'Kain (Djao'Kain)
I tend to have this problem, wherein I am usually a firm believer in an afterlife and reincarnation, but sometimes - usually at night when I'm trying to go to sleep - I get worried and terrified of death, thinking "What if there is no afterlife? What if there is no soul and nothing happens to us at death but blinking out of existence?"1 Well, since my main Goddess is a Chaos Goddess, I wrote up something that started as an attempt to make a simple chant or mantra or something to reassure myself that, if that turns out to be the case, it won't matter then. But I had too many ideas to fit into one mantra, so I made an entire poem about it. And here that is:

“Chaos To Chaos”
By = Tempest Alexandria Arts (Fayanora)

From Chaos I came and to Chaos I will return.
“I” am a complicated dance of quintillions of tiny points of energy, and my soul is the choreographer.
When the choreographer departs and the dance is over, the dancers will join other dances.
We're all choreographers of our own dancing energy, the only choreographers we can know in this life.
“I” am a temporary pattern in the chaos, in a temporary world, in a temporary universe;
All of us patterns in the Chaos,
Ever changing from second to second,
All of us sand paintings in the wind.

From Void I came and to Void I will return.
My life is a pebble in a pond, making ripples, the only thing left of my life when I am gone.
I shall not fear death, for I am not real;
I am like a virtual particle blinking in and out of existence, in the grand scheme of things;
A virtual particle in a holographic universe, the Multiverse every bit as ephemeral.
All of it whispers heard in static,
“Objective reality” via shared programming,
All of it a hard drive in an EMP.

From Naught I came, and to Naught I will return.
I shall not fear death, for I am just a temporary tempest of what-ifs and uncollapsed quantum states.
I am a hurricane contemplating its own eventual landfall.
I am a raindrop watching the ground approach at speed, contemplating the sudden stop.
I am a single breath, from the lungs to the blood, contemplating being exhaled.
All of us lightning in a storm,
Gone as quickly as we appear,
And all the world is the storm.

From Change I came, and to Change I will return.
I am like Jupiter's Great Red Spot, in a constant state of stable chaos.
But like all things, the stability will fail, the tempest will fall apart.
We are never not Change, it is the only constant in life;
Even death is just one facet of Change.
All of us are hurricanes,
Complex, multi-layered, and doomed to landfall,
But spinning off descendants before we do.

From Death I came, and to Death I will return.
My life is a fire, my body made of the ashes of other patterns tossed like logs onto my fire.
When my fire goes out, I will be a log tossed on the fires of other beings,
My ashes recycled, remade, reused; Life and Death eternal dance partners,
Entropy and Enthalpy embrace like lovers on the dance floor.
Gaia's biosphere is the phoenix,
Dying and being reborn from its own ashes;
The biosphere is Ouroboros eating itself.

From Peace I came, and to Peace I will return.

~ ~ ~

1 = Note that I never worry that the afterlife is worse, like Hell or something. I either believe in my own version of the afterlife, or I worry death is final.
fayanora: Djao'Kain (Djao'Kain)
Amy's grandmother recently died, and she has been naturally very upset. Last night I wrote this poem in honor of this woman I have never met, but who helped shape Amy into the wonderful young woman she is now:

“Morphahr Seh Taekah”
uuj = Fayanora Ahnabahn Tahlahmorgk

Karendai, grehn karendohr,
Karendai, uugaam morshaun,
Ko'kiln grehn, moisahl la aipahlih,
Tulon ehg mostaiso karendai-laniah,
Fiiehl bainah sada jophwaan.

Sehk sada zirrovais, grehj zirrkah kororra ahl;
Veh ulinit ihndohn voshet ahglor uugaam jayrahl.
Foht soh'kahlik, uugaam bain flo grehj zirrovais,
Ben morphahr seh taekah morphaikez.


Despair, we weep,
Despair, they sleep,
Below us, under the world;
Yet as (we) feel despair-everlasting,
It is not their final farewell.

With their soul(s), ours is always one.1
And some day we'll see them joyously.
For present, they are in our heart,
The fire of love burning.

~ ~ ~

What I like best about it is that it rhymes in both languages, though the rhyme pattern is different. The pattern for the TPNN version is: ABCCB DDEE, while the English is AABCD EFGH. Okay, so not a great rhyme scheme, and not done on purpose really, but still interesting.

1 = The zirrkah is the part of the soul that lives in other people, so this is not an exact translation. But it's the best English can do.
fayanora: Memetically (Memetically)
"Poem of No-Praise For The Orphan-Maker"
A Gosgolot poem

Though we're thankful for his rays,
Which keep the cold of Void at bay,
We dare not offer up our praise
Unto the ruthless lord of day
For fear his burning, staring eye,
That glares upon us from the skies,
Will notice us and make us die,
For he is more than Water's Demise.

Though we're grateful to our Host,
We pray he'll never notice us,
For we've no wish to be burnt toast,
And so we dare not raise a fuss
For fear The Screaming Death will wake
From his howling nightmare song
And cause us all to burn and bake
For doing something all too wrong.

Though we're grateful for his heat,
We dare not give him any prayer,
For if he heard us mewling meat,
He might then burn away the air,
So him don't summon, nor dare you call,
The Monarch of Ashes, not even once!
Just glance in fear at the Eye Which Burns All,
The Daily Reminder of Our Insignificance.

Instead we offer this No-Praise,
Aimed into the NIGHT time sky,
Quietly thankful for all our days,
Grateful that we're still alive.
The only prayer we give the night
Is to our Gods with mortal past,
To protect us from The Lord of Light,
In hopes these breaths won't be our last.

We also pray to our Kin Divine
To hear our constant, daily fears,
And on our love, attention, dine
So we may live a few more years.
And, oh Kindred, do also please
Take away our grief and pain,
Our burdens we need help to ease.
Sahn-kia, Koh Soh La Kohrain.
fayanora: SK avatar (Default)
“I Am As A Star”
A poem of the Gosgolot faith from Traipah

I am as a star, my light burning bright.
I am as a star, howling into the void.
I am as a star, a twinkle in the night.
I am as a star, my screams of defiance echo through eternity!

I am as a star, I roar with heat and flame.
I am as a star, I display my might.
I am as a star, I forever scream my name.
I am as a star, death can never defeat me!

I am as a star, I bring both life and death.
I am as a star, I honor my fallen prey.
I am as a star, and with my dying breath,
I will ensure my sacrifice betters all life.
fayanora: pensive (pensive)
"Depression Is"
by= Tristan A. Arts

Depression is a constant, never-ending cycle of stress,
With lots of ups and downs.
The ups are not escapes, just reprieves,
As fleeting as a mayfly in the antarctic.

Depression is a background radiation of frustration,
Life is never good enough no matter how hard you try.
There's always something, even if it's just a feeling,
As hard to shake off as a psychotic stalker.

Depression is never having enough energy,
No matter how simple the task may be.
Even things I want to do, I can't,
Without a lot of breaks.

Depression is my emotions stuck on negative,
Stealing my ability to choose happiness.
Positive thinking doesn't help,
And affirmations only ring hollow.

Depression is NOT constant sadness;
Usually, it's a neutral state close to, or including, apathy.
Mixed, often, with stress, frustration, and general malaise,
Sometimes with good reason, but usually without.

Depression is like trying to drive a car
That is never in the right gear,
And there is no way to fix the "transmission"
Because nobody in the world even knows how it works.

Depression is being at constant war with your body,
Mysterious aches and pains coming and going all the time,
Because the TV ads have it correct:
Depression hurts.

Depression is a problem in the hardware of the brain,
Not in the software of the mind.
You can't just choose to be happy and normal,
Any more than you can read a CD with a muffler.

Depression is trying lots of different treatments,
That may or may not work, all with different side effects.
For all that scientists know about the brain,
Anti-depressants may as well be trepanning.

And most of all, depression is not a choice.
Telling me to "just get over it" doesn't help.
I can no more stop being depressed than
A cancer patient can just "choose" to be cured.
fayanora: Djao'Kain (Djao'Kain)
“A Prayer To The Elements”
By = Fayanora Ahnabahn Tahlahmorgk / Tristan A. Arts

By the power of Air so swift and fleet,
By the power of its mighty gale,
I call on The North, on Kriioh's realm,
To fill my billowing sail.

By the power of Metal so strong and sharp,
By the power of its shiny gleam,
I call on The East, on Shao-Kehn's realm,
To be my load-bearing beam.

By the power of Light so pure and bright,
By the power of its loving rays,
I call on The South, on Yinianata's realm,
To warm up all of my days.

By the power of Water so mighty and old,
By the power of its tallest wave,
I call on The West, oh Ahndahn's realm,
To wash my troubles away.

By the power of Fire so hot and bright,
By the power of its purification,
I call on Above, on Morphwaan's realm,
To fill my enemies with trepidation.

By the power of Earth so solid and true,1
By the power of its tallest peak,
I call on Below, on Kusunia's realm,
To empower me when I need to speak.

By the power of Thought so magick and grand,
By the power of its potent protection,
I call on Within, on Nahtahdjaiz's realm,
To give my whole life good direction.

By the power of Void so empty and vast,
By the power of its vacuum so bare,
I call on Without, on Morshenda's realm,
To make all obstacles cease to be there.

By the power of Spirit so free and pervasive,
By the power of its loving light clear,
I call on The All, on Kohraindehr's realm,
To banish the shadows of fear.


1 = Alternative verse for Earth:

By the power of Earth so deep and immense,
By the power of its greatest earthquakes,
I call on Below, on Kusunia's realm,
To make my enemies wail and shake.
fayanora: by lj user holdonbaby (Elle looks up)
The first two poems are based on the nine elements and directions of Yahgahn.

“Heil to the Elements”1
By = Fayanora Ahnabahn Tahlahmorgk

Heil Shao'Kehn, Goddess of Chaos, Guardian of the East and elemental Metal; Her Knife protects us from harm! Heil!
Heil Yinianata, Goddess of Tame Fire, Guardian of the South and elemental Light; Her flames fuel civilization! Heil!
Heil Ahndahn, Goddess of Order, Guardian of the West and elemental Water! Her Waters quench all thirsts! Heil!
Heil Kriioh, Goddess of The Cold, Guardian of the North and elemental Air; Her chill winds sooth a heated world! Heil!
Heil Morphwaan, Goddess of Wild Fire, Guardian of Above and elemental Fire; Her light, the plasma fire of the sun, is our life blood! Heil!
Heil Kusunia, Goddess of Stone and Soil, Guardian of Below and elemental Earth; She is solidity and strength, the bones of creation! Heil!
Heil Nahtahdjaiz, Child Goddess of Children, Guardian of Within and elemental Consciousness; the child within us all is the fuel of consciousness and the soul of magick! Heil!
Heil Morshenda, Goddess of Darkness, Guardian of Without and elemental Void; within the darkness is quiet and solace and dreams! Heil!
Heil Kohraindehr, Deity of The All, Guardian of All Directions and elemental Spirit; all living beings are Gods and siblings within Her! Heil!
      Sahn-kia, kohrain da-pahtuuah! Koh Soh La Kohrain!2

“The Nine Elements”
By = Fayanora Ahnabahn Tahlahmorgk

Air in the North, cold and stark,
Light in the South, banishing dark.
Metal at East, hard and strong,
Water at West, waves roll along.
Fire Above, making things grow,
And Earth, of course, is down Below.
Go Within, there's Consciousness/Thought,
And out Without is Void, which is naught.
Spirit's the element of Existence's soul,
For it is The All, it is The Whole.
And so, by these elements numbering nine,
Comes all of space and all of time.

“Thiio Shaokehnzah”
By = Fayanora Ahnabahn Tahlahmorgk
(AKA Tristan A. Arts)

This one is in TPNN, translation provided. )

1 = Yes, this is "Heil" in German. So it rhymes with "pile."
2 = "Sahn-kia, kohrain da-pahtuuah! Koh Soh La Kohrain!" means "Many-thanks, all deities! You Are The All!"
3 = “Ahnabahn” actually means “sacredperson,” referring to clergy of unspecified gender, since theAh'Koi Bahnis have only one sex.
4 = “Djao'Kain” is another name for the Goddess Shao'Kehn.
fayanora: Djao'Kain (Djao'Kain)
Wrote this last night:

“Declaration of Shao'Mort”

I am Chaos, I am Freedom.

I think for myself,
No matter what others may say or think of my ideas.
I leave no sacred cow un-devoured;
I leave no taboos un-drunk.

I am Chaos, I am Freedom.
I question all memes, ideas, and notions.
I take nothing at face value.
When one speaks of another,
I make my own decisions about them.

I am Chaos, I am Freedom.
There is no Good or Evil,
Only value judgments.
I reject the value judgments of others,
For I can come to my own decisions.

I am Chaos, I am Freedom.
I reject morality and all it stands for;
I have my own sense of ethics.
Morality is the crutch of the feeble-minded,
The shit that comes out the back end of holy cows.

I am Chaos, I am Freedom.
Morality is a pleasant lie others tell one another
To excuse unethical and dis-compassionate behavior.
There is no evil in thoughts and ideas,
There is only evil is in actions.

I am Chaos, I am Freedom.
I reject beliefs utterly;
Belief is a trap that shrinks and limits the mind and soul.
Dogma is the death of the intellect,
And a person without an intellect is a meat puppet.

I am Chaos, I am Freedom.
I shine the light of consciousness
On every dark corner of my mind and soul,
Exposing all within so I may choose what to keep,
And what must be discarded.

I am Chaos, I am Freedom.
I deny all shackles, and destroy all chains.
I shall not be bound by any thought, word, or deed of any person.
I am freedom incarnate, and I am strong.
I cannot be defeated, even in death.
And I would not have it any other way.

Heil Chaos! Heil Shao'Kehn!
fayanora: pensive (pensive)
I wrote a poem for my mom yesterday, for Mother's Day. I wrote it in Trai'Pahg'Nan'Nog, and thus it only rhymes in TPNN. Took a lot more time than sending an e-card would have, so I hope she appreciates it. (Especially with the translation I supplied.)

About the second or third stanza into it, it began to remind me of Shao'Kehn. So I decided to dedicate it to my two mothers: my earthly mother, and my Divine Dark Mother. Now, here it is:

Sahn-kia, Lahsahn, sohlohr-bahn ny'ky'yah,
Sahn-kia, Lahsahn, koh bain vahs tay'kay'yah;
Sahn-kia, Lahsahn, kriiah taekah moi’hantiil,
Fii'ah'rah seh vwon farroh taekah, djohk hostiil.

Sahn-kia, Lahsahn, foht kriiah bey'HKorryl,
Veh taekah, kai'ahl hrainu thiiah zirrovahgyl;
Foht fii-sehk thiiah Lahsahn, thiin fii-bain shihbahn,
Veh ihl thiin sahn-kia thiiah sahn Lahsahn.

Sahn-kia, Lahsahn, veh la pahtohlihk hkort grehnoh,
Behbdohn, grehn ku'slar grehj ny'ky'yah meh'tlii'soh;
Jokiij hostiil ehm hantiil, yai grehn korrora moiulain...
Sahn-kia, Lahsahn, veh Koh Soh La Kohrain!

Notes: 1. Words in parentheses are implied by context.
2. In all my prayers, I include "Sahn-kia, Koh Soh La Kohrain" at the end.

Many-thanks, Mother, giver of life,
Many-thanks, Mother, you are very beautiful;
Many-thanks, Mother, your love complete,
Needing nothing of me but love, since (the) beginning.

Many-thanks, Mother, for your patience,
And love, which shape(s) my spirituality;
For without my Mother, I (would) not-be (my) self,
And so I thank my great Mother.

Many-thanks, Mother, and the divine (that) we are,
Together, we write our life story;
From beginning to end, may we forever create...
Many-thanks, Mother, and You Are The All!
fayanora: Djao'Kain (Djao'Kain)
“Xeper Xepera Xeperu”1
By = Shao'Kehn/Djao'Kain
(AKA Tristan A. Arts)

Inhale, exhale, make the flames rise
Up from your hearts and out through your eyes!
Flame on your breath with every exhale,
With the fire of Shao'Kehn, you cannot fail!

Lava your skin, heat rolls off in waves,
Becoming a vortex of flame which behaves!
Up into the air the vortex doth fly,
A tempest of color and light in the sky!

Life-force fire you beam to the 'casting,
Her Fire ensuring your own's everlasting.
You burn out your fire, She lights it anew,
Endless energy flowing through you!

Then fire – your life force – cast into the earth,
Doubles your 'casting for all that it's worth!
The power you wield, its ebb and its flow,
Ensures “As above, so too from below.”

You are now a conduit for power Divine,
All this achieved in a very short time!
Energy given, set the spell free,
With the cry, “As I will it, so shall it be!”

Now you have given a very great gift,
And received in return an energy shift!
A level of power unlike any you've known.
It is, My Child, because you have grown.

~ ~ ~

1 = “Xeper Xepera Xeperu” (pronounced "keffer kef-ferrah kef-feroo") is a Setian saying from ancient Egypt, meaning ''I Have Come Into Being, and by the Process of my Coming Into Being, the Process of Coming Into Being is Established.''
fayanora: SK avatar (Default)
A poem I wrote in response to someone asking who all the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers in the Harry Potter series were, and how they left.

Ohh... Quirrell was two-faced and master of trolling,
But Harry found out how that toerag was rolling
In self defense, burnt that dude to a crisp,
his face turning red just like lobster bisque.

Then Gilderoy Lockhart, of whom Molly1 was fond,
got his mind wiped by a malfunctioning wand.
Now he lives at St. Mungo's, still a bit dim,
But his fans still send many letters to him.

Next there was Lupin, who wasn't half bad,
except at full moon when he went howling mad.
He'd have done well in Hogwarts, for he was a peach,
but he resigned after slipping his leash.

Alastair Moody taught the class with a thunk,
Or so we thought till we looked in his trunk.
Fudge was upset when he found things amiss,
So gave the impostor one final kiss.

Mister Fudge took Umbridge with Dumbledore
For telling him Voldy had come back for more.
Dolores was racist, and called Bane a beast,
So they chased her away before end of year feast.

After years of wanting to teach the DADA,
Severus Snape got his chance, HA HA HA!
Things got surreal when he killed Dumbledore,
And ran off to rejoin Lord Voldemort.

And that's about it, since Lord Voldy's crew
Didn't teach *defense* against You-Know-Who.
I hope you enjoyed this queer little poem.
Now that it's over, I'm going home.

~ ~ ~

It didn't say we had to tell how they died, just how they left the position.

1 = Molly Weasley
fayanora: Hermione not amused (Hermione not amused)
"July The Farce"
By = Tristan A. Arts

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To listen to pompous hypocritical racist windbags
Rally the common people in protest
Of affordable healthcare for all.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To hear hateful vitriolic lies pollute our media,
The Republicans aiming the people like a weapon at Democrats,
While they, the real villains, pay no taxes.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To be searched and detained indefinitely without a warrant,
A clear violation of our constutional rights,
All because Al-Jazeera is more reliable than the US media.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To be deliberately misinformed by the media,
While they push our fear and panic buttons
With propaganda Hitler would have envied.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To watch a good man take constant fire from his peers,
The economy being sabotaged just so racist pigfuckers
Can say our first black President ruined everything.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To be spared from important news developments,
So that rapists, child molesters, thieves, and Klansmen
Can get a good man fired for taking pictures of his penis.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To be told we can't pursue our happiness
If that pursuit steps on the precious toes of the priveleged,
Who want that freedom all to themselves.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To be taken away from our own children,
Arrested, and put on a special blacklist,
Just because we taught them the word "vagina."

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To be brutally attacked for our gender identity,
Then to be told it was our fault for being different,
And mocked, like freaks, by the media.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To be sexually and violently attacked,
Then to be called either a liar or a slut
When we report the crime.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To stockpile enough weapons to destroy the world several times over,
While crumbling schools and education standards mean
Twenty years from now nobody will know how to operate them.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To pretend our Orwellian nightmare is a utopia.
But it would be a hell of a lot easier to do that
If marijuana weren't illegal anymore.

Dear God, we thank you for the freedom
To think.
It's not illegal...
fayanora: nonstandard spacetime (nonstandard spacetime)
I had a day, yesterday (Tuesday), that was blessed by Dochrahmahn Tu-Rah1, my Deity of Speed and Flight. I thought it would take 40 or 45 minutes to get to Immortal Pie and Larder today (I go there on occasion a few hours before the pagan meetups to do some writing), but it only took a few short minutes for the 71 to get to the Albertson's stop, and maybe 2 minutes after I got out of the 71, the 15 arrived. So it ended up getting me there 15 minutes earlier than I had planned.

Then, on the way back, I only waited a minute or two before the 15 arrived, and it was early by about 4 or 5 minutes. The trip from 82nd to 60th was short, of course, as always. I had to run from the 15 stop to catch the 71, but I got there a whole five seconds early, and the driver had a lead foot. Considering I did a frakton of figuring things out ahead of time, I was able to determine that the 71 heading home was either massively early or massively late. I'm going with "late" because I recognized the driver, and he doesn't usually drive so fast.

It was especially fortuitous because I was dressed for warm weather, and even at 3pm with the sun out, it was cool today. I had debated going back for a long sleeved something to wear when it inevitably got colder later, and decided against it. It did, of course, get colder. It also threatened to rain (IE, there was what I call "God's-spittle rain" coming down, which is just enough to say, "Oh hey, it's... raining?" and too little to be a concern to anyone but the Wicked Witch of the West. And even on her, it would just give her tiny little burns). So I ended up being home 30 minutes or more earlier than anticipated on a cold night threatening to rain.

So, since Dochrahmahn Tu-Rah so blessed me today/yesterday/whatever, I'm going to do more than my usual "Sahn-Kia, Dochrahmahn Tu-Rah, Koh Soh La Kohrain"2 as thanks. I'm gonna write a poem!

~ ~ ~

"Dochrahmahn Tu-Rah"
By: Fayanora

Dochrahmahn Tu-Rah, swift your wing,
Faster by far than anything!
The only ones who can beat you there
Are those who are already everywhere.3

Dochrahmahn Tu-Rah, fleet thy flight,
Faster than sound, or even light!
Few are those who can match thy pace
With even one-sixteenth your grace!

Dochrahmahn Tu-Rah, keen thy gauge,
Perfect timing at every stage!
For buses running much too fast
Will help me not as they fly past.

Dochrahmahn Tu-Rah, thy prescient gaze
Peers backwards through the future's haze!
Before I even call your name,
You've placed the lot with perfect aim.

Dochrahmahn Tu-Rah, my thanks abound,
May your name forever sound
On this and every other plane!
Sahn-Kia, My Goddess, Koh Soh La Kohrain!

~ ~ ~

1 = The "doch" in Dochrahmahn Tu-Rah can be said either as rhyming with "poke," or the O saying O's name and the CH being like the sound you make when you have to get a popcorn hull out of the back of your throat. The rest is pretty simple, the "ah"s being like the ah in "open wide and say ah!". So either "doke-rah-mahn too-rah" or you can say the popcorn-hull version.

2 = "Sahn-Kia, (Deity name), Koh Soh La Kohrain" is my standard prayer of thanks. It means "Many-Thanks, (Deity name), You Are The All."

3 = A reference to deities like Kohraindehr, Deity of The All; or Krainaik, Deity of Time.
fayanora: Djao'Kain (Djao'Kain)
I wrote this over the past hour, while thinking about my relationship with Shao'Kehn, and what I would say to a proselytizer if one were to come into my home. I kept Shao-Kehn's name out of it in case others found it relevant to them.

“My Goddess and I”
By: Ahnabahn Morph'Oht'Spwiigohl Tay'Kay'Yah1
(AKA Tristan A. Arts)

Alone one day in contemplation,
The doorbell rang for me.
I answered it with small frustration,
For I'd not been expecting company.

A stranger stood outside my door,
A Bible in his hands.
He asked if I'd met his god before,
For conversion was his plan.

So, polite, I let him in,
And made the man some tea.
He spoke a lot of God and sin,
And I got a brochure for free.

After he had spoken for a while,
I sipped my tea and said,
“It sounds like the right path for you,
But might kill my own soul dead.

“For this god of yours sounds so aloof,
With communication just one way.
As to myself, I need some proof
That my Deity hears the things I say.

“My Goddess answers inside my mind,
In words as clear as a sunny day.
Just the slightest poke inside my mind,
And there She is, soon as I pray.

“She's been through so much with me,
Her love unconditional and stable.
She's held me, loved me, believed in me,
Even when I found myself unable.

“My Goddess has not judged me ever,
Nor has She punished or berated.
She's firm but gentle, and quite clever,
Her love for me is unabated.2

“And when I hated myself so very much
That I tried to fall to my demise,
My Goddess stopped me with a touch,
Tears of sorrow in Her eyes.

“Even the years when I felt dead inside,
From fear, depression, and stress,
And my spirituality seemed to have died,
She still loved me, and tried Her best.

“I rarely felt anything, rarely spoke with Her,
But when I did, She was always there.
With wisdom and love, a comfort for sure,
More reliable, even, than water or air.

“She comforts me and soothes my fears,
She strengthens me and helps me learn.
And my Goddess, through all these years,
Has never asked for anything in return.

“Plus, She's not burdened by a holy book
Self-contradictory and obsolete.
Her wisdom is immediate as a look,
And as relevant to today as can be.

“I would not be alive today without Her,
Nor coped with the world so well.
And though I don't believe in it, sir,
Her help would be worth going to Hell.

“I do not proselytize or preach my way,
Nor expect anyone to join me.
Since I know for a fact that when I pray,
My Goddess has practical, real help for me.

“My Goddess is precisely what I need,
Nothing more and nothing less.
I could no more follow your creed,
Than you could worship Bes.

“You talk of a personal God who cares,
But your prayers are too one-sided.
And I'd rather suffer Hell and stares
Than to have not been – by Her – guided.”

So it was the preacher sighed,
And picked up his black tome.
A nod of his head his only reply,
As he quietly left my home.

~ ~ ~ END ~ ~ ~

1 = One of my spiritual names. Means "Reverend Beautiful Pyre."

2 = I found this line so powerful, I considered naming the poem "Unabated."

One last note: Djao'Kain and Shao'Kehn are two names for the same Deity.
fayanora: Little Girl in rain By lj user never_end (Little Girl in rain By lj user never_end)
It's been a week or so since I started posting about my finished poetry fishbowl poems and I've sold only one poem, and there's $2 in the general fund thanks to [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith. (THANK YOU!!!) So, I'm going to post some teasers, the first bits of poems to whet your appetite. Donations can be made to pay for a whole specific poem, part of a specific poem, or into the general fund; when there's enough money in the general fund, I'll make a poll for my readers to decide which ones they want released.

“The Baobab Tree”
By = Tristan A. Arts

Oh I danced and I danced till the crack of three,
then I got real tired, sat by the Baobab Tree.
And I sat and I sat feelin' awful funny,
turned around, was being stared at by the Baobab Tree.

"The Baobab Tree" has 20 lines total, costs $10. Want to read the rest? PayPal button on this page. Don't be scared off by the totals; every $1 helps. Spread the word, if nothing else. Or donate to the general fund.

“The Way The World Turns”
By = Tristan A. Arts

Human, what are these words you speak,
This “here” and “there,” so strange!
How can any sentient being exist
Bouncing around the universe?

“The Way The World Turns” has 16 lines total, costs $10. Want to read the rest? PayPal button on this page. Don't be scared off by the totals; every $1 helps. Spread the word, if nothing else. Or donate to the general fund.

“Hooray And Hoorah!”
By = Tristan A. Arts

Oh the Chippendales soar with the greatest of ease,
Their danglies flap 'round in the spring night's light breeze,
They sing and perform in the Vatican now,
Ever since we swapped Ratzy for a horny old cow.

“Hooray And Hoorah!” has 12 lines total, costs $5. Want to read the rest? PayPal button on this page. Don't be scared off by the totals; every $1 helps. Spread the word, if nothing else. Or donate to the general fund.

“The Many-Angled One”
By = Tristan A. Arts

Cthulhu lies dead and dreaming in R'lyeh,
A story oft told and oft heard just to thrill ya.
But something I doubt anyone's ever told you,
Some works of fiction turn out to be true.

“The Many-Angled One” has 28 lines total, costs $10. Want to read the rest? PayPal button on this page. Don't be scared off by the totals; every $1 helps. Spread the word, if nothing else. Or donate to the general fund.

“Mother She Loves Us”
By = Tristan A. Arts

Mother, she loves us; Mother, she made us,
Mother we serve, and Mother we feed.
Mother, she loves us; Mother, she guides us,
Mother we serve, so Mother may breed.

“Mother She Loves Us” has 20 lines total, costs $10. Want to read the rest? PayPal button on this page. Don't be scared off by the totals; every $1 helps. Spread the word, if nothing else. Or donate to the general fund.

“A Burning Love”
By = Tristan A. Arts

For many a moon I courted you,
With a house as fine as fine could be.
So it was with joy I gave you my soul,
As I took yours in return.

“A Burning Love” has 20 lines total, costs $10. Want to read the rest? PayPal button on this page. Don't be scared off by the totals; every $1 helps. Spread the word, if nothing else. Or donate to the general fund.

“What Defines Sentience?”
By = Tristan A. Arts

If there are other sentient races among the stars,
Will their thoughts be anything at all like ours?
Will we recognize their sentience? Will we suspect?
How will we know what to expect?

“What Defines Sentience?” has 24 lines total, costs $10. Want to read the rest? PayPal button on this page. Don't be scared off by the totals; every $1 helps. Spread the word, if nothing else. Or donate to the general fund.
fayanora: Little Girl in rain By lj user never_end (Little Girl in rain By lj user never_end)
I wrote a bunch of poems today for my first poetry fishbowl, the theme of which is Weird Things (which you can still give me prompts for). There are three $5 poems and five $10 poems so far. Here's the list, if you see any you want to sponsor (that is, "give money to get it published"):

Poetry Fishbowl Poems that are written, awaiting sponsors. All have at least "weird things" as a theme, even if they don't say so:

"The Way The World Turns" - Themes/prompts: alien intelligences, differently civilized people. I like this one a lot! 16 lines, $5

"I'm Glad I'm Not A Giraffe" - Theme/prompts: giraffes. 12 lines, $5. SPONSORED: Click here to read it!

"Hooray and Hoorah!" - Themes/prompts: weird things, Chippendale acrobats in front of the pope. (Very bizarre.) 12 lines, $5

"Mother She Loves Us" - Themes/prompts: weird things, humans with inhuman intelligence, differently civilized people. 20 lines, $10

"The Many-Angled One" - Themes/prompts: tentacles, weird things, an invading species with no body. 28 lines, $10.

"The Baobab Tree" - Funny poem! I think Molly influenced this one. It's more like a song than a poem, too. Nice whimsical, playful attitude. This is my favorite of the lot. 20 lines, $10

"A Burning Love" - Themes/prompts: alien intelligences, it wasn't his heart she set on fire, the argonaut has a detachable penis. 20 lines, $10

"What Defines Sentience?" - Themes/prompts: alien intelligences, animal culture. 24 lines. $10

And here is the button to give me money! If you want (a) specific poem(s), you should tell me in the "comments to seller" area, or email me at telling me your username/PayPal name so I know who you are! That's so I can properly credit you as being a sponsor. :-) Funds donated with no specific poem specified will go into a general fund for everyone to later vote how it will be spent.

Anyway, here's that button:

fayanora: Steph bouncy (Steph bouncy)
The Poetry Fishbowl poem "I'm Glad I'm Not A Giraffe" has been sponsored by [ profile] janetmiles! Based on the prompt "Giraffes" by [ profile] ellenmillion, some stuff I read about giraffes in a link [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith provided for another prompt, and the fishbowl theme "weird things," it was one of the $5 poems. Thank you, [ profile] janetmiles, for the sponsorship! And thank you, [ profile] ellenmillion, for the prompt!

There is a bit of blue language. If there are any complaints, I'll put it under a cut. For now, though, enjoy the poem, everyone!

“I'm Glad I'm Not A Giraffe”
By = Tristan A. Arts

Giraffes invented water sports, for they don't drink champagne!
The male drinks the female's piss to taste if she's a lay.
And if she is, so help that lass, she'll never get away!
He'll chase her down and stalk her until he gets his way.

And if you think your first time was awkward as can be,
You haven't tried to mate when your neck is like a tree!
With legs that barely keep them up half the time as is,
Is it any wonder the males taste their lady's whiz?

It's not like being born giraffe is a cakewalk in the park,
Can you imagine falling down out of the warmth and dark?
And the difficulties they go through just to get a drink,
Make me glad I'm not a giraffe, 'cause that would really stink!


If you liked this (or even if you didn't; this wasn't the best of the lot), you can view the rest of the poems available for sponsorship here, or give me more prompts here.


fayanora: SK avatar (Default)
The Djao'Mor'Terra Collective

September 2017

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