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ysabetwordsmithThis poem is spillover from the March 2, 2021 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by a prompt from mama_kestrel. It also fills the "Druids" square in my 3-1-21 card for the Celtic Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred, ng_moonmoth, janetmiles, and edorfaus. It belongs to the Strike of the Thunderbirds series, after "Ever Evolving, Changing, Becoming."
"The Labored Works of Man Overthrown"
At the root of the world lay
the Boiling Sea, from which
many troubles emerged.
It seethed with eccentric waves
and streams of pollutants, inhabited
only by the toughest of fish and
a few animals that had learned
to harness its harsh waters
for their own purposes.
The Island of Songs and
beyond it the Island of Stones
formed tranquil sanctuaries for
their people, but mainland shores
were dangerously unstable.
Fumelands spit forth hot mud,
steam, and noxious gases.
Quakelands shivered underfoot
and made it impossible to build
anything taller than one or two stories.
On the eastern coast of the Boiling Sea,
it was terrible; there lay the Burning Land
filled with fire and smoke and liquid stone.
North and east, the land was unstable,
and people struggled to survive there.
In the far north lay the Bog Sea and
the Northmarch, the heart of the world.
Across the choppy Narrow Sea
lay the Silent Islands, where
the Oakseers had created
a thriving civilization.
They had tree-temples
and stone-schools, circles
where the Harpers sang and
the Healers brewed potent drafts.
The Applebers on their hidden island
had planted orchards of fruit that
grew only under their care.
On the mainland, Vinyard
had the Great Basin, inside
which stood the Ivory Towers,
the greatest city men had made
and the best wines men could brew.
Just to the south of it, Westerland had
the Peaceful Plateau and the Long Valley,
but the Firestone Mountains largely
cut it off from the mainland beyond.
Where it came down to the Boiling Sea,
there was the Rock of the Gate, which
faced the Rock of the Water in Seabridge.
Beyond that lay another world, from which
dark people sometimes moved north.
Some of them had settled in Westerland,
in the shaky desert of the East Rift.
The Believers of the Beneficent Faith
built the City of Sand and worked
fine glass and silver in its shops.
For some time all would be well,
people taking pride in their work, but
always the earth would shake again.
Then the ground would oscillate
underfoot and everyone could see
the labored works of man overthrown
in a moment, leaving them all to feel
the insignificance of their boasted power.
No matter how good life might get,
everyone knew it wouldn't last.
* * *
Notes:
This poem's notes are long, so the Europe, geography, religion, and vocabulary notes appear separately.
mama_kestrel. It also fills the "Druids" square in my 3-1-21 card for the Celtic Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred, ng_moonmoth, janetmiles, and edorfaus. It belongs to the Strike of the Thunderbirds series, after "Ever Evolving, Changing, Becoming.""The Labored Works of Man Overthrown"
At the root of the world lay
the Boiling Sea, from which
many troubles emerged.
It seethed with eccentric waves
and streams of pollutants, inhabited
only by the toughest of fish and
a few animals that had learned
to harness its harsh waters
for their own purposes.
The Island of Songs and
beyond it the Island of Stones
formed tranquil sanctuaries for
their people, but mainland shores
were dangerously unstable.
Fumelands spit forth hot mud,
steam, and noxious gases.
Quakelands shivered underfoot
and made it impossible to build
anything taller than one or two stories.
On the eastern coast of the Boiling Sea,
it was terrible; there lay the Burning Land
filled with fire and smoke and liquid stone.
North and east, the land was unstable,
and people struggled to survive there.
In the far north lay the Bog Sea and
the Northmarch, the heart of the world.
Across the choppy Narrow Sea
lay the Silent Islands, where
the Oakseers had created
a thriving civilization.
They had tree-temples
and stone-schools, circles
where the Harpers sang and
the Healers brewed potent drafts.
The Applebers on their hidden island
had planted orchards of fruit that
grew only under their care.
On the mainland, Vinyard
had the Great Basin, inside
which stood the Ivory Towers,
the greatest city men had made
and the best wines men could brew.
Just to the south of it, Westerland had
the Peaceful Plateau and the Long Valley,
but the Firestone Mountains largely
cut it off from the mainland beyond.
Where it came down to the Boiling Sea,
there was the Rock of the Gate, which
faced the Rock of the Water in Seabridge.
Beyond that lay another world, from which
dark people sometimes moved north.
Some of them had settled in Westerland,
in the shaky desert of the East Rift.
The Believers of the Beneficent Faith
built the City of Sand and worked
fine glass and silver in its shops.
For some time all would be well,
people taking pride in their work, but
always the earth would shake again.
Then the ground would oscillate
underfoot and everyone could see
the labored works of man overthrown
in a moment, leaving them all to feel
the insignificance of their boasted power.
No matter how good life might get,
everyone knew it wouldn't last.
* * *
Notes:
This poem's notes are long, so the Europe, geography, religion, and vocabulary notes appear separately.
