Monday, January 12, 2015

The Flight of a Wild

 As a special treat to get the blog off the ground, I thought I'd share my science fiction poem, The Flight of a Wild (originally published in Apex Digest Online waaay back in 2004).  It got a great response at a reading at La Muse Writer's and Artist's Retreat in France, inspiring the wonderful Irish poet (and my friend) Maggie Breen to try her hand at a longer poem.  Anywho, enjoy:

The Flight of a Wild
(A Science Fiction Poem)
by Diana Hignutt
(c) 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt

“Begone,” we cried; and they moved away.
Some immortal savagery removed,
Our victory complete.
Our World! Our World!

Impressions of a concrete nature
form my earliest memories.
I see them build...
And build...
And build...

It is a Building
beyond the purpose and reason
of our hearts...a commercial motion.
I remember bulldozers
and dirt piles on sullen grey days.
But still the green of life and some trace.
Vague, vague memories of innocence.
Grey now...all somber, sullen

What are we now?
In the future I am walking...
I see the workmen gather and
circle something hidden.
I can not see it.
(a mystic orbit...the logical conclusion.)
Their circle moves in
I hear the rhythm of our machines.
The crush of all pistons, the whine
of all gears.
A passing car, a constant

The circle moves in.
Their faces are expressionless and
hungry...this is our explanation.
We are alive...
We have forgotten that,
to be robots of desire.

I feel a presence in the middle
of the circle.
Child that I was before, forgive me...
I am a workman.

Our circle moves in.
Around and in.
I see it...
Even we fall silent.
It stares at us in pity, in terror.
It stares at me.
It is a Wild.

For a moment a balance
I look at my fellows, I see
the hunger in their faces and
the sorrow
in their eyes.
I look into the eyes of the Wild.
A tear for who?
So close, now
the circle moves in.
We make a break for it...a Wild and me.

Sometimes I watch TV.
the news frightens me
Horrors engulf us...we are numb.
They disenfranchise us from our souls.

“Peter,” my wife calls.
To avoid suspicion, I ignore her.
I concentrate on the weather,
more rain in the city.
Who started this? Their fashion
consumed her.
She calls again.
I answer her and she does not
hear me.
We are only the distance between us.

It is dinnertime.
We eat.
The children need their things
close beside them...they giggle
and shuffle their peas.
My wife yells at them.
My potatoes are cold, but
I am hungry.
I eat.

In a mind an alien passion play
I remember.
I hide some food.
Leaving the table.

A Wild eats hungrily.
My closet smells of its urine.
A strange trust.
I look into the eyes of the Wild.
Clearly it is there...
A mythic energy recalls
to wonder.
I smile and a Wild understands.

That night I have nightmares.
In the midst of things...A hunger,
A parody of naught.
uncertain mystical economies resolve.
Fragments of Foundations whither.
Who decided what we are?

Unethic fashions dissolve me.
Conconmotion aside these things.
I dream this...
I dream I remember a moment:
Lost little moment within me.
I am the sunset!
It is a movement of my soul.
Beyond meaning no paradox exists.

In the Ocean there are powers...
An old echo of beginning
sounds in every wave.
they sound frustrated...
But I hear...
I do not ignore the nature
of my source.
I miss the forgotten...
The call of a gull.
Our victory even here.

I look out far.
Deep down...
A power stirs.
Its rhythm is not diminished.
Should I pretend I understand?
Should I say to myself:
“Peter, the answer is this:
a simple solution.”
There is no where to run to.
I walk on empty beaches
A Wild follows me.

The last forest
holds the seeds of renewal.
Do not despair.
But it is winter and cold.
In the snow
We wander alone:
A Wild and me.
No signs of life.
Our hunger is deep.
The Wild leaves me.

Within all things a whirling silence
and the peace that marks heaven.
Answers come to me...

In a smile I see two Wilds
(my friend and another)
I look into their eyes...
Such primordial energy...
A promise.
I lie down
And they consume me.

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