stars – three good words

January 12, 2016January 12, 2016

overflow

lay me down
accept this offering
two to the one beyond
what is thought to be known

where grace is given
where light is hidden
amongst stars
legion
dusted on the endless black

lay me down
let the only sound
ring beyond all
that is known to one
and another

where time is no more
than the essence
flowing over
lapping on the shore
of all our senses, one

giving, living
knowing
one to all, all to one
like water flowing
glowing, bright
curved against the diamond black
breaking the rays
of the brightest sun
our morning star.

May 16, 2015May 16, 2015

life and time

asleep in the rise
of a star
set against light
passing
in lifetimes, twinned
against systems
nebulous
as far as they are wide
daunting
we circumvent
a sun

one look
the night sky
and the past gazes
back, calmly

ancient is the dark
that holds our sun
light so holy
so necessary
to us all
as we go
gently, gently
into that good
night

so bright
stardust, twinkling
alive.

January 4, 2015

there is something in the silence of the clear lines,
the divine arches of the old orders, now long lost in time
where silver and marble, wheat, amber and gold
were the wealth of a few amongst many;
that time, once, so far away
celebrated today in lands of plenty
a time, once, where life was short, hardship unquestioned,
and the sweetness of solace a luxury felt to the core.

A time, yes, when fire was known for its ecstatic warmth,
the flames divine and terrible, their power
and presence felt too often on human skin and human soul;
a time, too, when water was the sword of truth
by which holiness was divined, though to drink it alone was unwise
unless in beer, ale, or wine;

that time where earth and air were powers that gave and took
that made and broke whole realms with wind and weather and storm,
by the droughts so dreaded, and crops finally growing,
the rains prayed for , the sun steadily glowing…

…can we, today, in our lands of plenty
imagine once, just once, what it meant to be, to live, back then
when time was sun and moon and stars,
legends holy and sung, the songs of praise whispered and hummed
over open fires, heating the cauldrons that fed all in house and hut,
after thanking with grace and gratitude
the great, the holy, the one clouds 1

November 16, 2014May 16, 2020

reconstruction, 1

I started this as a Merci-For-Reading to all you lovely people. Then I looked out of the window. Behold, a November day in all its grey glory. Which brought me to this dark little piece. So here it is, for you, my dearest wordlovers, and your likes, re-posts and comments that I truly cherish. Oh, and in case you’re wondering: Yes, the Philae on the Comet might have a little bit to do with this particular genre twist… Enjoy :) j.d.

They said they were like bright lights. It looked beautiful, like slow fireworks at daylight, falling from the sky. Then the first alarms went off, but by the time anyone knew what had happened it was too late.

Afterwards they said someone had tampered with the force fields and sent an asteroid belt the wrong way. They could just stop the whole thing from coming down, but a few escaped. Those were the bright lights in the sky, like comets you could touch.

A whole mountain range disappeared, it had one of the highest peaks known. From one second to the next it was gone. Whole coastlines and cities were no more. The oceans rose, and more land was swallowed. Many were able to escape to the moon bases, but many others weren’t so fortunate.

Then came the rains and snows, hail storms that would last for weeks. Volcanoes erupted and new land rose, but it was too young. The rains never stopped long enough and the famine lasted for years. The War made it worse. You could see the bombs in the sky, the clouds of fighters shooting each other down. Finally, the weather started to change and more land could be tilled again. People started coming back. That’s when the Reconstruction began.

* * *

Records of Reconstruction

Urbana Regulatio Historia
Section XIV § 27

Consortia in Residencia

1.1

Residents are of either persuasion. According to Section III URH, their form and permanence must be in strict accordance to Federation Regulation 24-10 of Humanoid Development.

1.2

Residents are not Citizens. According to Section IV URH, they must not be recruited from the body of Citizens. The ordination must remain highly controlled, following Federation Regulation 36-17: 1.1 to 1.27. Freedom of movement and of person, according to Section V URH, may be allowed in 1) a House Domain and in 2) a Citizen’s Private Quarters (see § 25). Freedom of movement is to be guaranteed in all quarters of the Federation, according to Federation Regulation 5-15.

1.3

A Resident’s duty is to relieve the bodily needs of the respective Citizen. To one Citizen there shall be one resident. In case of a breach of contract according to Section X URH, the consortia in residencia may be legally dissolved.

1.4

The legal Houses of the Federation are the legal guardians of the resident, until the resident acquires a legal consortia in residencia. In case of dissolvement by breach of contract, according to Section X URH, the resident may return to their previous legal guardian.

1.5

A Citizen of any persuasion is to have a permanent resident and a consort. According to Section IX URH, this must be accomplished by their thirtieth year. The respective resident is to be asserted from a House Domain (see § 26).

1.6

It is understood that Citizens and residents be allowed a certain period in time to accustom to each other. This time may not exceed one (1) year. Consorts are to be granted the equal amount of time for adjustment. It is understood that after the maximum of three (3) years a full household is to be established once a consortia in residencia (see § 26) is established.

1.8

Both Consorts are to have permanent residents. Their living quarters must coincide with those of the Consorts. According to Section XII URH; the rights and freedoms of each Consort are not to be infringed by the consortia in residencia.

* * *

The Mistress walked down the lines, lifting her finger every time she wanted to inspect one of them. The latest batch was lined in an avenue, naked and chained of course. They were from the Islands and wilder than the usual ones, so unruly they had to be kept on their knees. Those the Mistress thought worth her while were prodded and often yanked to their feet. At this stage they were still savage, but once sold, it was no longer Gordec’s problem. He was taking a risk with this batch, but someone had tipped him off that the Houses were looking for fresher meat, and where else to find it than on the Islands. It had taken weeks to capture this batch and some of his men were killed, but it was worth it. By the look of it the Mistress was impressed.

He watched the Mistress glide down the aisle, followed closely by her secretary, holding onto a ledger and scribbling down whatever the Mistress said in that mysterious language of theirs. The Mistress was impressive in her flowing dark robes. She was not pretty, at least Gordec wouldn’t bed her for any price, too thin, too old, too much of the City on her. He liked them simple, with enough meat on their ribs to hold onto when it got rough, the kind you got down in the docklands, where there were no House Rules to stop you. Just thinking about it made Gordec lick his lips. He had one particular one he went to, a filthy thing that cost him a pretty penny, but Gordec didn’t mind, he got his money’s worth out of her each time.

He would have to wait though until he could pay her another visit, he first had to make sure this deal went through. Never mind her elegance, this particular Mistress was business, and by the look of it she was really pleased with his fare and not just looking it. She raised her finger again, and Gordec prodded, but the kral wouldn’t move. He prodded harder and the kral still stayed on its knees, never mind the sparks the electric made. They were tough these Island kral, tougher than the mainland ones, maybe the reason why the better Houses were looking for them. The clients probably needed some variation.

Finally Gordec had to make the sign. His guards came and dragged the kral to its feet. One thing had to be said about kral, they had perfect proportions. Rumours had it they had made a pact with demons to make them perfect, but who knew. This one here was the strong type and even tried to fight but the Mistress was quick. In a flash she had a hand around the kral’s member, an impressive thing even when limp and the kral went still. Gordec had to grin, this particular Mistress always surprised him. The Mistress weighed the kral’s strength in her pale hands, nodding her head. By the look of it, the kral was ready to kill her if it ever got the chance, but with the Mistress’ holding its worth, even this one wouldn’t budge.

‘He’s perfect,’ the Mistress said, ‘I’ll take him as a well.’

She said something more to her secretary that Gordec didn’t catch and then let the kral go. It was the Mistress’ luck that the men were still there. In a flash, the kral moved to attack her, nearly knocking the guard’s over, but the men reacted quickly. In seconds the kral was on the floor and silent.

‘Are you really sure about that one?’ Gordec asked the Mistress. She nodded, watching the kral bleeding on the ground.
‘With the right training he’ll be excellent,’ the Mistress said, looking satisfied.
‘It tried to attack you, Mistress.’

Gordec usually didn’t try and persuade his clients from a deal, but he’d seen that look in a kral before and it always meant trouble. Real trouble. He wasn’t sure if the Mistress knew it, these Island kral weren’t like mainland one’s. He tried to explain it but all the Mistress said was ‘I like a little spirit.’ Gordec shrugged, it was none of his business anyway.

She bought a total of five that day, all of them Island kral and she hardly haggled the price. Gordec was to send them to the usual place in the Low Don. It was said that after six weeks there, even the wildest kral followed any Mistress. Gordec always wondered what they did to them there, but it wasn’t for him to ask. He got a perfect price for the five, and finally had that wild one off his hands which was more than he had bargained for that night.

* * *

Needle-point heels, glossy, black. A black pencil skirt, a white blouse, stretched tight over pert breasts, a slim black belt. A slim-fitting black jacket matching the skirt. Her hair held back in a strict bun, a pair of delicate black-rimmed glasses. Full lips, flawless caramel skin, striking dark eyes tapering to a clear curve. This is Ji’an in full regulation uniform, a Citizen.

As long as Ji’an could remember, life in the City was structured to keep the Peace. The rules and laws minutely regulated daily life, making Commuters absolutely punctual, and there was a precise amount of hours that you were allowed to stay in the offices. If you exceeded these, the doors locked to your ID and you could no longer return to your workstation. The Federation was rigorous in keeping its Citizens healthy, rested and at peace, for which Ji’an was grateful. She could not think of living any way else.

Like all other Citizens, Ji’an was raised away from her biological parents in a Home Circle. Long before the Reconstruction began, the Sages understood that blood ties were destructive to the overall peace of the society due to their strict confinement. It was no surprise then, that once the Reconstruction began, ‘families’ as they were known in those dark times were freed into Home Circles.

One day she, Ji’an Taiyge, woud fulfill the Duty too, for each Citizen had the duty of ten years to supervise a Home Circle with ten, maximum twelve children, though six were the norm. The children, who were never biologically related unless they were twins, were raised together as siblings, each equal to the other. They all knew their biological parents, of course they did, only the criminally insane were disallowed contact. Everyone knew their birth mother and birth father, the records were always updated and easily accessible, but there was little contact. There was no need really, the Home Circle was what was important. It was, Ji’an had observed, simply nice to know.

Now at twenty-five, Ji’an knew her place. She and the rest of her Home Circle had left the Low Don at the age of ten, and joined the Institute near the High Falls like everyone else. Ji’an still remembered the grand ceremony of Leave Taking. Tula and Maso, their guardians, had cried tears, for now it would only be them again, their ten years of guardianship were over. There had been many hugs and many kisses, everyone was crying, and Ji’an had wondered how it must have been, back in the violent days, when the people you left also shared the blood in your veins. She could only imagine how difficult it must have been if they all already cried when saying goodbye to Tula and Maso, Olen even running back to hug them once more. In that, blood ties must have made Leave Taking torturous. It was right then, what the Sages decided. One should not get too attached, it clouded the mind.

Once at the Institute they learned the Laws of the Federation, and by their twentieth year they were finally of age and ready to actively partake in the necessary endeavours to further the Peace. Each of Ji’an’s Home Circle had chosen their profession according to their skills, all seven of them had talents the Federation needed, Tula and Maso had done well. Now they all played a valuable part in sustaining the peace and prosperity the Federation created after the Reconstruction. It was a stability needed to help those parts still torn and deranged by the darkness of the War, to heal, recuperate and join the Federation’s measures of Peace.

Ji’an had no doubt about this. It was a fact of her life, and she rejoiced in it. She knew of the immense value of the Peace, the food, clean air and water, the simple stability she was able to enjoy after so many, too many decades of disaster. She had seen the Fleet Communications, she had watched the DeNost Journal, and there was always, always the Siege of the Seven Stars and all its horrors… Even now, Ji’an could shudder at the mere thought. So now, of age and firmly in her place, Ji’an Taiyge knew what she was grateful for.

November 7, 2014November 7, 2014

saving grace, 4

Everyone was at table, eating, drinking, passing bowls and platters two and fro. There was usual talk of the marketplace gossip and what was left of the tales about the Governor’s Ball. Mrs Bellamy repeatedly left the table to see to Father Claireborne and his guest upstairs. Ariane sat by and ate in silence. She listened and answered if she was asked a question, but was otherwise quiet, until even John noticed and asked if she was under the weather. ‘No, she was clumsy and fell on her way back from the market,’ Mrs. Bellamy explained. Her look showed clearly what she thought of that. Ariane looked to her plate.

‘Does your arm still hurt?’ Tenny asked, looking concerned. Tenny was the woman who came to help with the washing. Her arms were dark as oakwood and strong, her hands large and leathery like a man’s. She was a jolly woman, short, almost squat, with a loud laugh. She often stayed longer than she first promised, unwilling, Ariane felt, to go back to small room she called her home down towards Port Augustine’s ‘disreputable corner’ as Mrs Bellamy called it. Ariane often wanted to ask Father Claireborne if Tenny couldn’t move into the small room out back that wasn’t much more than a place of storage, hardly used. She did not know how to ask though, since Tenny did always talk so much, and Ariane knew Father Claireborne liked it quiet during the day, so he could read his books and write his sermons.

It was when Tenny asked that Ariane realized she was indeed rubbing her arm, the one that man-thing had turned so sharply it had hurt all the way to her head. Ariane folded her hands in her lap and shook her head, Mrs. Bellamy saying, ‘Don’t worry yourself, Tenny, it’s just a bruise and it will heal soon, won’t it my dear?’ she smiled, stroking Ariane’s cheek. Ariane nodded and finished her plate, asking if she could be excused right after. She left the table when her mother gave her leave, and did her best to leave the kitchen by the back door as unhurridly as she could.

Ariane stepped onto sanded path snaking across the lawn, and at first walked one way, then the other, before passing towards the gate, slowly, carefully, her eyes fixed on the green. flowers 5 She was not certain if she should go and see if the tomato and carrot were still there. Officer Turlington had said there was a dangerous criminal on the loose. The man-thing had looked feral, mad even, and he had told her, no, commanded her to keep still and all without words. Ariane finally reached the gate and lingered. From where she stood she could see nothing red or orange in the green grass, but it was rather tall, and who knew if they weren’tcarried away by some feisty bird or whatever else came by. But if she walked out now, would it not be foolish? God knew what would happen, and if she shouted no one would hear, not the way they were talking and laughing inside.

Ariane hesitated, but common sense won over curiosity in the end. She could not forget that feral look in those eyes, clear yes, neither blue nor brown nor grey nor black, but somehow colourless in the bright light. It was out there, somewhere, all grunts and growls, and it had turned her arm so. She would be foolish to underestimate what else it could do, feral as it was. And so very dirty.

Ariane finally walked back to the house. She would eat one of the pastries she knew her mother had made for Father Claireborne and his guest. Mrs Bellamy never minded if Ariane ate one as long as it really only was one. Walking around the house, Ariane saw that the side door stood ajar, the one used for deliveries, but that was not surprising, her mother was always complaining how everyone forgot to close it. Luckily, the larder was the door next to the kitchen, she would not have to face the others again. Ariane could still hear the talk and laughter inside, stepped to the larder, opened the door, and – Holy Mother of God.

There it was, again, as feral and dirty as before only standing now, stuffing its mouth with freshly baked bread and those parts of the chicken her mother had layed aside for tomorrow. The man-thing stopped the moment she opened the door. There was a moment or two without a heartbeat. Ariane did not know if to talk or scream. Right then, the door to the kitchen opened, Bert’s voice booming out. Ariane closed the door to the larder and made to walk out, nearly walking into Tenny who laughed, ‘There you are! Lend me a hand with the washing later on, yes? I can never hang those sheets on my own.’ Ariane just nodded and Tenny went out through the delivery door, John, Bert, Mel and Wesley following her right after, putting on their caps, Bert thanking Mrs. Bellamy loudly for his supper, it was as always ‘exquisite’. ‘You stop those lies, Bertram Mahoney!’ Mrs Bellamy shot back. ‘Ah, Mrs Bellamy, why can’t you accept an honest compliment?’ ‘Honest? Ha!’

This went on for too long. Ariane stood, listening, her heart racing, until finally, thankfully, John asked when they should return for tea, now that the weather looked like rain by evening. John and Bert liked to sit in the kitchen and drink cups of tea like gentlemen while it rained and stormed outside. They told wonderful stories then, stories of pirates and wild chases, sunken ships and hidden treasures, islands full of gold that only appeared at the full moon, and wells that were filled with gemstones. Together, John and Bert were storytellers fit to entertain any king’s court.It was why Ariane liked rainy days. Then she could just sit and listen to John and Bert tell their stories, her mother shaking her head at ‘all that nonsense you’re putting into the poor girl’s head’, though she never stopped them.

If John said it looked like rain, then it would rain, John was ‘an excellent predictor of weather’ as Father Claireborne said. Ariane had hardly seen the clouds while she was at market, but now that she thought if it, it had looked a little silvery while she was outside. Dogs could not smell in water, but they could smell in a house. What if they found the trail before it rained? What if the came all the way here? And if they asked her? Would they know she was lying? For she knew she should at least tell her mother, but first John and the others had to leave, and they did finally, all of them, with Ariane waiting in the hallway, between doors, not knowing what to do next.

One last look into the kitchen showed Ariane that her mother had suddenly disappeared. Where – ah, there, the quiet screech of a pump. Her mother was out back, fetching more water. Ariane stayed as she was, the kitchen door open, and her eyes fixed on the larder. Finally her mother returned, and Ariane summoned her silently, despairing with her ‘What is it? Why don’t you just tell me?’ before sighing and following Ariane’s silent plea and joining her. Body tense, hands trembling slightly, Ariane opened the larder door.

‘What is it?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked. ‘Ariane, what is the matter, why show me the larder in this silly way, you know – ’

Mrs Bellamy stopped and stepped in, walking to one of the shelves.

‘Those rascals! If I ever catch them, if I ever see them with my own eyes, may God forgive me, but they will get such a thrashing as they’ve never seen – !’

Mrs. Bellamy could hardly contain her anger. The third roast chicken had disappeared. Ariane stepped in with her mother and saw Mrs. Bellamy smile at her grimly.

‘Well, it’s good you saw it, your eyes have not gotten bad,’ she said. ‘I was already getting worried, it’s not like you to trip on the Hunting Trail.’
‘Look,’ Ariane said instead, pointing to the ever fastened larder window.

Turning, Mrs. Bellamy made a noise that sounded like a curse, something she only ever did when the food burnt in the oven.

‘To steal from God’s house is already – but to purposely break in! Have they no piety!’

Ariane did not answer. The glass was shattered, the window swung open at its hinges. The man-thing had not spirited itself away, she was not suffering from what Father Claireborne called ‘hallucinations’. Her mother was already climbing the stairs to the Father’s apartments when Ariane realised what this meant. Where was it now, the feral thing? She imagined it running into the green with a roast chicken. Well, at least it finally had something to eat.

Father Claireborne entered the larder, saw the destruction and shook his head. He looked out of the broken window and sighed, ‘I will have to have speak with their parents,’ which surprised Ariane who had always thought Father Claireborne was ignorant of the occasional thefts from their larder by the Holborns and Gellards, two families of many children and little means. Usually it was pastries and the boiled sweets Mrs Bellamy saw no sin in eating. As it seemed the Father was well aware of the occasional disappearance. He patted Mrs. Bellamy’s arm as if to calm her.

‘Don’t worry Mrs. Bellamy, I will see to it. This has clearly gone too far.’And with that, both left the larder, Ariane following them silently. Closing the door, she wondered. Where had the man-thing gone? Was it still about the house? Was he in fact, just a room away? And if so, should she not tell her mother at least? Father Claireborne? But once told, they would call the officers and that would be the gallows for him. The thought alone made Ariane feel a murderess. So far she did not know of his transgressions. Yet maybe Father Claireborne knew something of what Officer Turlington had said. She really should say something. At least to warn them of the feral creature hiding around the house.