In honor of the celebration of International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, a little poetry. Please feel free to link to this entry wherever you may see fit, but do not reproduce the poem without asking-- I hope to sell this eventually. Those of you who have seen versions of this before will note that it has been substantially revised for this occasion.
Memo, Upon The Millennial
As our country, at the moment, marks the thousandth anniversary
of King Canute's successful bargain with the laws of ocean's mastery--
we hereby ask the citizens to exercise their sovereignty
in remembrance that the ocean was for eons a divinity.
Respect the casual powers that we all bring to the seashore!
Time and tide should wait for no one,
runs the rede of our late Fathers,
yet we visit salt-walled labyrinths builded well-nigh to the Colonies:
real estates are most expensive, but the constant loss of shellfish
to lack of tourism--
at least, tourism not within water.
We are told that there are hikers all the way to Easter Island,
camping freely in the chasms of that towering placidity,
self-absorbed reflexive Moses with a yen for oceanography.
We are told there is no briny Mystery;
we've seen it all down there, and catalogued by genus.
Feminae aequoreae and Anguis amphitrites and all
the sloshing rest of it:
Proteus does three shows nightly.
Is this a model for our younger generations?
There were boats swept to their deaths, once, in the weather.
There were boats swept out of harbor.
We have grown too used to guaranty; our
saint, Canute, would spit upon our pride and waste.
We feel we should remind you all to let the current take
to let the ocean carry you,
so Our Father, in displeasure,
might not curse our
disregard of tide,
not chasten us,
not threaten us,
not take away,
not take away
not pull out of our hands the ocean-glimmer
we have yet to conquer,
not finally rip from us the hope,
not take away
in all sincerity.