Fire Triptych I

Fire Drake

This was great magic,
aye

You raised the sea bed
to the open sky.

Was it so great as
parting love from love
by loving's knowing?

       It was not long before Tu
       Tiwes, lord of war,
       tangled the brothers once again
       in their long battle twisted,
       wind and sea, like boys
       who wrestle in the dirt,
       disturb the air around them,
       causing great outcry
               by their wildness.

Tangaroa mended
       still fought his inner self;
       the long rift turns the force of oceans,
       lordly sea against the sea's vast
       majesty
               rather than rend
       his mother's open flesh;
               unending seams
       the headland to Hawaiki,

Tawhiri rode the space
       laughing the storms to being
       wild in his raking
       running and pacing the long patterns of the sea
       lengthens the sun's path,
       lunges the world tree
       diving and dancing
       singing obedience,
               down deep essential
       distilling obedience
               free.

So mists formed,
       bemused wounds of earth,
       warm sun wrapped in cloud,
       we dwelt, time after time;
       or untoward darkness,
       or summer beloved,
       or winter
                lashed us
       froze
       the marrow in long
                reddened finger bones.

We all have our seasons,
       turn, turn about,
               times of mastery,
               of giving
       feed each other until skill
       wears out

       we are tired, but it would seem,
       not endlessly
 

                       *

       This did not please the boy,
who wandered off, complaining  of winter dark
to form a foray
       to his uncle's house:
       he and his brothers
       prancing round a pit,
       with ropes,
       trying to beat the Sun.

Great Uncles have their pride,
he thought it marvellous they'd come to him,
came to complain a bit
       and talk it over at the hearth,
               and laughed, and said it brought to mind,
oh, many a prank
he and his brothers wrought while the world was young still
       and his fire still fierce and virulent,

He boasted of their strength and tried to hide
the fact they hurt him with their sticks while he
proud warrior, strove not to burn them
with his slightest touch.

       I measure out
my length of days by loving you.
       Stories of your growth.
       I count myself as losing nothing
               by that love.
To you I may seem weaker, older, wilder.
Like Lear, to have given my great power away,
As if you conquered me by taking. But it was
my joy.
Oh not to give. it doesn't feel like 
giving
the sun counts not the wattage of his fiery storms.
Nor lays them thoughtfully against
potential winter of his age.
 

Taranga and her mate built life
       out of a world of dreams.
Brought the dreams into Papa's realm
       and made them breathe like us.
You tore them from her, as if she
       had not the right to build a dream
       into the real world
Is that what you think it?

       Whence did any of us come?
       Rangi, Papa, Tane, and the uncles.
      It was as if
       if you couldn't or wouldn't see it,
       then no one else had the right to it.
As if we thought ourselves better than you,
       because we saw what you couldn't.
               Wouldn't.
I don't know.
 

So great your magic, 
yet all along we sheltered you.
       And not for your sake..
when your great uncle came to us to boast of how
       you beat him, how could I tell you
that I dreamed a dream, dream of children
children beating an old man on the streets,
beating him for gold who'd given already,
heart's blood and health, and ceded life.

bullying to give that which they never had.

       You wanted, I think, to give light
               without burning yourself,
and dear one, it just isn't like that at all.
       The branch in the fire is consumed.
       You can say it dies.
       At least it isn't here to look at.

       Ash is, and embers.
Well, you have the branch to do it for you now.
The branch isn't gone,
       it is the warmth you feel.
With in you
       energy to move your muscle, or your mind,
your lung and thought.

You have received the branch
       and You are now its life
       and you must pass it on.
 

You played with Loki on the beach,
 and a fine pair you were for teaching each other 
 mischief.
Boasted with Herm down the road behind the shed, too.

But when it came to Attis and Tammuz
 Adonis, and Baldur,
  I think you missed the point.
To be what they are, they died. Willingly. 
Poured out their blood, 
not for any nobleness but sheerly 
because it was the next thing to do. 
They were there. 
               Dear one, they didn't
die for us
for anyone,
        they gave their lives to us
and what we do
and what we give is life
simply because we love
them,
you,
us.

       Old sun enjoys firing up
       the system
       poking challenge at the stars,
       I'm sure of it.
But if he hadn't loved you,
       you'ld be roasted, without basting.

                       *
 

And so we spoke with him, reasoned with Maui
       but he went off         sulking
       all the same, and said we did not value
       all he was,
       or understand him as he was within himself,

       and his great uncle strode off to the stars 
       smiling with pleasure
       at the strength and gumption of his kin,
and smiled a special smile
       when warming him.