.mercury

.

It is the magnetism that brings him back,
back, to the indigenous days of May, with its
terrestrial tilt and cadence of moonshine.
That, or the wide smile of a rift – a chink
or broken link in time.

That's it: it's simply scientific, he tells himself;
the puckered truths, traded dreams, the guilt –
it's all just a trick of kinetics, the fevered frictions
(or fictions) of the messenger. Esoterics.

But still. It's with pursed lips he meets the rip –
the shafts of split light that belt Orion
like snakes stitched at the hip, or a cruel twist
of fate, quick as silver. And this time there's no note
for him to relay or relate, because Mercury believes
that no one could be quite so helter-skelter,
so hand-to-mouth
as he.

.

* * *

Mercury was the Roman god of trade, profit, merchants and travellers, and acted as messenger for the gods. His main festival, the Mercuralia, was celebrated in May, and his symbols were the caduceus (a staff with two intertwined snakes) and a purse (hoho, moar wordplay, oh yes). The word mercurial is derived from his name, meaning something/someone volatile or unstable.

Inspired by this wonderful poem by the lovely archelyxs and Virginia Woolf (the final phrase is taken from a line in 'To The Lighthouse' - 'everyone could not be so helter-skelter, so hand to mouth as she was'.

Check out the rest of the mythology series here or here.

* * *

Finally, another mythology poem! (:

Sorry about the wait, things have been getting a little more hectic lately what with uni looming so close, and I've still got loads to fit-in in my final week at home. But I felt I really needed to write something, just to reassure myself that I still can.

It's a really weird feeling, knowing that everything's about to change. I've been trying to see the past few months as a really long holiday rather than just a limbo, but now I'm starting to realise just how much I've got to leave behind; how much of a new weight I'm going to have to take on. It's exciting, yes, but hella scary too. :P

But in the meantime, I've been trying to fit in seeing everyone for the last time (my friends and I are holding several farewell Midnight Tea Parties to mourn the temporary loss of each other), buying loads of new crap (I now own cooking utensils! Be very afraid...) and just generally sitting round feeling exhausted and listening to the entire discography of L7 on repeat. Good times...

In The Mother Tongue

And now,
after winter’s spite left
the sun rung white,
it begins:

the stirring of survival
under sleep, where the waters
meet and fold into gold-
lipped petals; the buds of blossoms,
strung illusive as dovetails; the
malachite movement skyward –
the earth-sung pulse
of spring.


And I, too,
am crowned cornflower
blue when I speak
in the mother tongue,
grasping the wish-
bone split into seeds that
feathered plumes untie -
so that each breath, godlike,
unfurls worlds into honeyed airthat melt into the cloud-cloven sky.

* * *

I've been waiting for days for the inspiration for this to strike me, and it finally did!
My entry for devLIT's contest themed New Beginnings.
Wish me luck!

Oh, and some excellent news! You know my visual poem Vox Vitalis? Well, I placed third in the competition I entered it into, and got an honourable mention! Yay!