SUNDAY ON FELL STREET AT 6:00 AM
The lights lay on the black moss of the hills
Like random leaves of sunset’s autumn blown
Along the midnight’s winter hoping for
Renewal from the pale electric dawn.
The moon peeked out, half naked, from her sheet
Above where cypress blended with the roofs
As outlines stretched out on the vacant street.
The arabesque shapes rolled on the down the road
Until they merged beyond the city’s edge..
I followed till absorbed within the park
Where birds were tucked beneath the cool still air
And runners’ thumping didn’t clutter trails.
My bo staff pointed to an unseen meadow,
Its wood awaiting neural fire’s flash
Unfolding ancient patterns in precision
Repeated till I’ve harmonized with them.
THE ABANDONED ELM
No more is your wood used for door posts of temples
Or furniture both for the living and dead.
Your leaves and your bark have not lost their medicinal
Old uses for coughs and for colds or too cool
A fever and balance the four basic humours.
But all of these now are forgotten in floods
Of painted and packaged large piles mass produced
That empty and atomized clutter our lives.
When last did the beasts of the fields in enchantment
Come sit in your shade to hear poets sing verse
That harmonizes music from spheres with the Underworld,
Forgotten old elfinwood gateway and crossroads?
But who would regenerate ancient songs now
When progress is laid out in asphalt and concrete
That’s wrapped up in cables and hanging in air
Forgetting the teaching of balance the elm gives.
COME WALK WITH ME
Come walk with me deep in the park
Upon a curving unused path
That snakes along the naked earth
Smoothed by eucalyptus bark.
The nymphs alone in there have spied
The squirrely games of giggling play
Which willows help the bushes hide
From sunburn slapping light of day.
Come walk with me and we shall go
Hand and hand till we can rest
The skipping heartbeats in our chests
Beneath the blanket of a shadow.
The sparrows weave a thread of song
To guard the path from straying feet,
A sour clashing noisy gong,
That would break this rhythmic beat.
ON LOOKING FOR THE MOON
Has the moon been
Lost among the
Rippling clouds?
Puddles shiver
Scattering the
Image, but,
Pieces still
Slimmer sharp
Through the clouds
Rolling waves.
THE VISION OF LADY XOC
The Maya Kingdom of Yaxchilán , October 28, 709 AD
The footsteps thunder past the carved stone lintels
From priests in snapping dances on the terrace
Each movement manifesting cosmic cycles
In circles round their Holy Lord, Shield Jaguar,
The breathing axis of the web of life.
Inside the artificial cave the dwindling
Soft torchlight fell upon four painted walls
To make mirages of motion by the figures.
Besides a ceiba tree a kneeling man
On each wall held the sky against a prime
Color background: white on the north wall,
On the south wall yellow with red for east
And on the western wall was mostly black.
Nebulous vapor layers of copal
In swaying puffs rose from ceramic faces
To fill the chamber like deep mountain fog.
In the center Lady Xoc sat low
Amid the pine boughs seeping fresh rich sap.
Large drops of blood oozed from her pierced tongue
That quivered with each passing motion of
The thorny cord she pulled with her mute tears.
When finished, her hands shaking took the bowl
In which blue papers traced with curling glyphs
Were turned to purple by her seeping blood.
The regal queen in her embroidered shawl
And gown of fabric smooth and shinny with
Large woven delicate flowers raised the bowl
And chanted phrases never spoken save
In sacred stony spaces secrets from her mother.
Beyond the door the underworld of night,
Xibálba, spun up with the star canoe
As sunlight softly dwindled into purple.
On the combs observers watched the sky
Ands saw the sign: both Jupiter and Saturn
Conjoined to form the primal hearthstones with
The constellation Gemini they call Peccaries..
Damp chilly night air puffed into the chamber
And stirred the contemplative clouds of copal.
She raised her eyes and slanted forehead set
In a quetzal feather headdress peeked with black
Long braids; her mind was spinning with the pain,
The fasting and the overwhelming incense
And that her actions were reanimating
The sacrifice of blood her great ancestor
Of her mother’s line, First Mother Lady Beastie,
Made opening Xibálba’s hidden treasures.
She too would with her blood unlock a portal
(For blood in man is like the universal
Sap of life that flows within all things).
On hearing that the signs were seen above
She set a flame into the bowl she held.
The fire blossomed into golden-orange
And smoke rose up in heavy twisting motions
Of straining curves that writhed in clumsy effort.
A head congealed above her in a dark sphere
That sinking in itself snapped open as
The coils from the bowl solidified.
The Lady Xoc near fainted from the terror
Of facing Yát-Balám, the kingdom’s founder.
His face emerged out from the serpent’s mouth;
Translucent jade with burning ruby eyes
Beneath his headdress formed of glowing amber
And glossy pearl with black storm clouds.
“O Lady Xoc, why have you called me from
The Sacred Mountains where ancestors dwell?”
The lightning spear he held flashed with his words,
The light illuminating his jaguar shield.
Her words broke down to sounds within her throat,
But then she found the will to speak to him.
“O Yát-Balám, the wellspring of our line!
I come to you to seek a mighty boon!
My husband in his third katún has taken
A wife, the scion of Cálakmúl those fierce
Old rival in Petén, the Lady Eveningstar.
A youth, she bore to him a son he loves
And hopes will form a bond of lasting peace
Between us and Petén. But still the boy
Bird Jaguar, is an alien to our line
And therefore can’t inherit from his father.
Respecting in love what my lord desires
And craving peace when I have lost three sons
To deadly ballcourt play in Cálakmúl
I seek to recreate our line as once
First Mother did in past times when she opened
Xibálba bringing forth a new creation
Transmitting her divine blood’s vital force
To those who sit upon the double-jaguar
Throne. The stars are once again aligned
So please accept my sacrifice and prayer
And bring about your children’s deepest hopes.”
“The sap of spirit, Itz, that you have given
We give to young Bird Jaguar to remake him,
More than adopt him, to our spirit lineage.
This boy will be the strongest of our kings
And will be honored by the hard stone trees
Whose leaves, inscriptions, will tell of his great deeds
Because he’ll bear within him your own life.
Build a temple so all Maya know
From stones that last through all the Long Counts
Your sacrifice: a true First Mother you
Have given birth to our clan’s greatest age.”
Santiago del Dardano Turann has had his poetry accepted by 38 journals, since he began submitting in August, 2007.
