10-11-2013, 08:13 PM
ooc: if there is any accidental reference in this post to earlier posts, sorry! had to edit a few times! ignore said references!
--
Furious Lament
- and here are two galliards.
The wolf-voice isn't just for opening a moot isn't just for summoning enemies or allies isn't just no certainly not only for. The wolf-throat isn't just for snarling an enemy-you-will-die snarl for growling a first-warnings-are-also-last-warnings growl. Under the October Moon, moonlight silvering the dark and falling with oh they'd never think indifference they're holy they know they are it is a thing that sparks furiously inside them they do not need faith because they are what they are, Celduin's galliards slip with predatory grace from the audience and center, and there they separate, circling sinuous once twice rangy things and the Fianna with a drop of old heroes drinking up the fire in her blood oh no but not drinking up oil on fire shh simmer smoulder crackle the point is the Fianna lifts her muzzle first and howls
a plaintive question-song, anger limning the rise-and-fall sound of it
why Luna why, why, Luna, why,
why Luna why
do some stories fall into shadow
and never get told?
why Luna why, why, Luna, why,
why oh why
do we keep fighting, do I keep fighting,
when the bones of good wolves
strong wolves, laughing wolves,
the bones of the wolf who climbed the stars to steal your light
and use it against the Wyrm
the bones of the wolf who went down into the Earth
and came back with teeth of black glass and knowledge of the future
the bones of the wolf who led seventy wolves
into speaking a new caern up from a river
the bones of the wolf who first held my throat with teeth
and let me go
why do I keep fighting when these bones are still
and the wolves are gone
because wolves are not bones?
why Luna why why
Echoes of the Lost
And he'll never tell you he was lost without her but he floundered up here by himself two moons past and now they come up out of the crowd and the firelit darkness at each others' sides for a time and he's bigger than her and meaner than her and his wolf-fur is tan and red and gray darker along his spine for his blood came from the cradle of civilization though his spirit came from the southwest-american sands.
He is the only one who hears his ancestors anymore.
He answers like the answer is the ghost of something said before:
why?
why?
i am Darkness.
i am Void.
why?
why?
i am the mother without children.
i am seedlings yet unborn.
why?
why?
i am infinite.
unfathomable.
no meaning end or measure.
why?
why?
i am loneliness and barrenness and nothingness.
three stones i grow inside myself
three eggs, three glowing coals
i reach inside and draw them out
and toss them to the void
and they burn so bright like fires
in dry leaves or wood.
i watch them for eternities.
heat makes warmth and warmth makes fire and fire makes life.
patient, patient, i swim the void and watch them grow.
why?
why?
Darkness is ended.
the Void is fled.
no longer do i drift alone.
why?
no longer am i all alone.
from the fire came the phoenix
witness of my firstborn
my creation
on wings of flame she soared across the sky
laughed at the fleeing Void
laughed to see Creation bloom
where before was nothing but the night.
why?
phoenix laughed to see the end of night.
Furious Lament
And when Echoes of the Lost ends, Cinder Song is already drawing wolf-voice out again sending it falling around the Uktena wolf's like ash from a fire sending it drifting like a wind-eddy through ash then up, up, wolf-voice to bridge-span wolf-song to follow the wolf who climbed the stars to get to Luna and ask three questions five nine questions bring them back to Gaia but forget them on the way, wolf-voice ethereal but shadow-furred, and under the wolf-voice this time demands,
strong, swaggering,
where, Luna, where
is the ground strong and sweet
under our paws
where, Luna, where
is the food good and the play quick
the wolves clever and the wolves
packed (together [united])
where, Luna, where
do we stand strong against foe
do we bare our teeth
our bright bloodied teeth
where, Luna, where
is the question [uncertainty] that can shake us
Luna, oh, Luna, beautiful Luna
where should we not-wolf wolves go?
where should we not?
where oh where is the pack of storm's teeth,
who calls his brothers and sisters together so they talk
about the war, what to do, a vigiliant family,
and black sheep,
who was saved by a river, who made the river
remember how to be clean, how to be clear?
where is that pack?!
where is the seer-pack, the pack of crescents,
of over sea and under stone, who died but came back,
because her rage was too fierce,
of sings the spirits to rest, who tends the wounded,
who sings herself restless,
of still waters, who does not falter, even in the dark,
of treads the ashen path?
where is the desert oracle? where is that pack?!
where is stone cold the pack of
dances with the hurricane, who even the dark does not spy
when she passes through it
and [afro daddy]?
where is that pack?!
where is the pack under falcon's shining wing,
the pack of anubis sight, who offers strength without cowardice,
who speaks and listens
and of reverence to dawn,
who judges fairly, who kills surely and swiftly?
where is that pack?!
Echoes of the Lost
No notion of heresy in their culture for their people have no allegiance to any but each other and their homage is paid to the spirits for their bodies are half spirit and their children are half-spirit and the land and the future and the things that keep them alive are of spirits.
Echoes of the Lost barked and howled as a vast dark thing to answer her first inquiries but now he circles around her like the moon circles the earth and his tone is sharp and bright but not like metal not like something made by man's hands like something man has only touched after much sacrifice and to no end.
But not like Luna. Luna will not answer her.
to see you must leave this behind.
this fire, these woods, the wind in the branches.
this is the true world, the mother's realm
the seat of the immortal, the heart of our world
the fragile flesh.
inside that flesh is immortality.
the shard of past lives
the seed of tomorrows.
to touch the face of our immortal Mother
you must leave behind the comforts.
speak your prayers into shallow waters!
send your essence through the glass!
the Immortal Ones have shown us the path to their domain
to the heart of immortality
we glide like shadows
errant cubs
home.
listen now to the rustle up above!
breathe the pine and forestfall!
close your eyes
forsake the things you know
and we will speak of them.
they are here
they are immortal
speak of them
that they might live on
after you are gone.
Furious Lament
plaintive
why
becomes for life
swaggering
where
becomes here
and now
now the Fianna-wolf whose ears have pricked-up up playful playing legs-spread play-bow quick and a leap, turn, roll-in-the-dirt, stalk around Echoes of the Lost, stalk-stalk, hunt-hunt, follow-follow, brush against, a shadowling thing, the Fianna-wolf who howls a third question-song singing-question what
Luna!
what [who] are we?
humans hearing would be afraid prey hearing would be warned hairs-rising back-of-neck cold they'd feel it in the marrow where it silvers itself burns sharp
this wolf-song
but this wolf-song it is not a threat it is a declaration a question that knows its answer it is not a wolf-song it is a garou-song a one-thing then-another song in wolf-throat and oh it does know the answer
but
it wants to hear it said
Luna!
what are we when your light touches us
transforms us makes us this-shape and that-shape
what are we when Helios is bright
when we are strong
when we are weak
what are we
when we howl
what are we?
Echoes of the Lost
what are you?
And still he orbits her. Snaps at her heels as he moves about her. Stolid and angry but not impotent. Not lashing out. It's Rage, not rage.
oh my brothers
oh my sisters
by the stars and the crackling of the fires
remember how you hunt
like the wolves you are
remember how you sing
like the men you may be
let no one tell you these days are easy!
let no one tell you they are not cold
that you do not toil
and bleed
and measure the seasons in the deaths of friends.
never was this world a paradise!
it is built on bones and brambles.
if paradise there be where all is bliss
it be in an Otherworld
where lessons learned in this land
have blossomed into greater sense.
life is a mountain we climb.
those who fall from its slopes may be mourned
but they do not bring the mountain down!
those who claw at its slopes may be slain
but they do not bring the mountain down
and you would not let them if they could.
they are less than worms in a carcass
termites in the wood -
they corrupt what they cannot enjoy
and from these
we take our supper!
what are you?
Furious Lament
- this is when they howl together; wordless, though of course there've been no words, not really, just the shape of them, poetry dredged up out've wolf-voices, but this this is real wordlessness raw sound braiding one around the other -
what are you?
- blooming, blossoming, into another-shape, not a wolf-shape this, no, a shape that belongs to these, muscle-bound shape, preternaturally dextrous, war-shape, warrior's-shape, Rage's shape, battle-form -
see?
- finish with a ROAR.
Echoes of the Lost
They do not stay in their wolf skins for wolf skins are for the hunt and for shadows and for feasting. Not for war. Not for the call of it. The alarm hurled into the air not a wail of foreboding but a roar of warning.
And he bursts up into his war form beside his sister and he towers over her and the fur in this form is black as the night around them and their voice is like the earth opened up to swallow all those things that would see Her burn.
That is what they are.
- and then (at least) the Fianna takes a seat (for now). Wet that whistle for more tales. Cede the floor to Echoes of the Lost or somebody else.
--
Furious Lament
- and here are two galliards.
The wolf-voice isn't just for opening a moot isn't just for summoning enemies or allies isn't just no certainly not only for. The wolf-throat isn't just for snarling an enemy-you-will-die snarl for growling a first-warnings-are-also-last-warnings growl. Under the October Moon, moonlight silvering the dark and falling with oh they'd never think indifference they're holy they know they are it is a thing that sparks furiously inside them they do not need faith because they are what they are, Celduin's galliards slip with predatory grace from the audience and center, and there they separate, circling sinuous once twice rangy things and the Fianna with a drop of old heroes drinking up the fire in her blood oh no but not drinking up oil on fire shh simmer smoulder crackle the point is the Fianna lifts her muzzle first and howls
a plaintive question-song, anger limning the rise-and-fall sound of it
why Luna why, why, Luna, why,
why Luna why
do some stories fall into shadow
and never get told?
why Luna why, why, Luna, why,
why oh why
do we keep fighting, do I keep fighting,
when the bones of good wolves
strong wolves, laughing wolves,
the bones of the wolf who climbed the stars to steal your light
and use it against the Wyrm
the bones of the wolf who went down into the Earth
and came back with teeth of black glass and knowledge of the future
the bones of the wolf who led seventy wolves
into speaking a new caern up from a river
the bones of the wolf who first held my throat with teeth
and let me go
why do I keep fighting when these bones are still
and the wolves are gone
because wolves are not bones?
why Luna why why
Echoes of the Lost
And he'll never tell you he was lost without her but he floundered up here by himself two moons past and now they come up out of the crowd and the firelit darkness at each others' sides for a time and he's bigger than her and meaner than her and his wolf-fur is tan and red and gray darker along his spine for his blood came from the cradle of civilization though his spirit came from the southwest-american sands.
He is the only one who hears his ancestors anymore.
He answers like the answer is the ghost of something said before:
why?
why?
i am Darkness.
i am Void.
why?
why?
i am the mother without children.
i am seedlings yet unborn.
why?
why?
i am infinite.
unfathomable.
no meaning end or measure.
why?
why?
i am loneliness and barrenness and nothingness.
three stones i grow inside myself
three eggs, three glowing coals
i reach inside and draw them out
and toss them to the void
and they burn so bright like fires
in dry leaves or wood.
i watch them for eternities.
heat makes warmth and warmth makes fire and fire makes life.
patient, patient, i swim the void and watch them grow.
why?
why?
Darkness is ended.
the Void is fled.
no longer do i drift alone.
why?
no longer am i all alone.
from the fire came the phoenix
witness of my firstborn
my creation
on wings of flame she soared across the sky
laughed at the fleeing Void
laughed to see Creation bloom
where before was nothing but the night.
why?
phoenix laughed to see the end of night.
Furious Lament
And when Echoes of the Lost ends, Cinder Song is already drawing wolf-voice out again sending it falling around the Uktena wolf's like ash from a fire sending it drifting like a wind-eddy through ash then up, up, wolf-voice to bridge-span wolf-song to follow the wolf who climbed the stars to get to Luna and ask three questions five nine questions bring them back to Gaia but forget them on the way, wolf-voice ethereal but shadow-furred, and under the wolf-voice this time demands,
strong, swaggering,
where, Luna, where
is the ground strong and sweet
under our paws
where, Luna, where
is the food good and the play quick
the wolves clever and the wolves
packed (together [united])
where, Luna, where
do we stand strong against foe
do we bare our teeth
our bright bloodied teeth
where, Luna, where
is the question [uncertainty] that can shake us
Luna, oh, Luna, beautiful Luna
where should we not-wolf wolves go?
where should we not?
where oh where is the pack of storm's teeth,
who calls his brothers and sisters together so they talk
about the war, what to do, a vigiliant family,
and black sheep,
who was saved by a river, who made the river
remember how to be clean, how to be clear?
where is that pack?!
where is the seer-pack, the pack of crescents,
of over sea and under stone, who died but came back,
because her rage was too fierce,
of sings the spirits to rest, who tends the wounded,
who sings herself restless,
of still waters, who does not falter, even in the dark,
of treads the ashen path?
where is the desert oracle? where is that pack?!
where is stone cold the pack of
dances with the hurricane, who even the dark does not spy
when she passes through it
and [afro daddy]?
where is that pack?!
where is the pack under falcon's shining wing,
the pack of anubis sight, who offers strength without cowardice,
who speaks and listens
and of reverence to dawn,
who judges fairly, who kills surely and swiftly?
where is that pack?!
Echoes of the Lost
No notion of heresy in their culture for their people have no allegiance to any but each other and their homage is paid to the spirits for their bodies are half spirit and their children are half-spirit and the land and the future and the things that keep them alive are of spirits.
Echoes of the Lost barked and howled as a vast dark thing to answer her first inquiries but now he circles around her like the moon circles the earth and his tone is sharp and bright but not like metal not like something made by man's hands like something man has only touched after much sacrifice and to no end.
But not like Luna. Luna will not answer her.
to see you must leave this behind.
this fire, these woods, the wind in the branches.
this is the true world, the mother's realm
the seat of the immortal, the heart of our world
the fragile flesh.
inside that flesh is immortality.
the shard of past lives
the seed of tomorrows.
to touch the face of our immortal Mother
you must leave behind the comforts.
speak your prayers into shallow waters!
send your essence through the glass!
the Immortal Ones have shown us the path to their domain
to the heart of immortality
we glide like shadows
errant cubs
home.
listen now to the rustle up above!
breathe the pine and forestfall!
close your eyes
forsake the things you know
and we will speak of them.
they are here
they are immortal
speak of them
that they might live on
after you are gone.
Furious Lament
plaintive
why
becomes for life
swaggering
where
becomes here
and now
now the Fianna-wolf whose ears have pricked-up up playful playing legs-spread play-bow quick and a leap, turn, roll-in-the-dirt, stalk around Echoes of the Lost, stalk-stalk, hunt-hunt, follow-follow, brush against, a shadowling thing, the Fianna-wolf who howls a third question-song singing-question what
Luna!
what [who] are we?
humans hearing would be afraid prey hearing would be warned hairs-rising back-of-neck cold they'd feel it in the marrow where it silvers itself burns sharp
this wolf-song
but this wolf-song it is not a threat it is a declaration a question that knows its answer it is not a wolf-song it is a garou-song a one-thing then-another song in wolf-throat and oh it does know the answer
but
it wants to hear it said
Luna!
what are we when your light touches us
transforms us makes us this-shape and that-shape
what are we when Helios is bright
when we are strong
when we are weak
what are we
when we howl
what are we?
Echoes of the Lost
what are you?
And still he orbits her. Snaps at her heels as he moves about her. Stolid and angry but not impotent. Not lashing out. It's Rage, not rage.
oh my brothers
oh my sisters
by the stars and the crackling of the fires
remember how you hunt
like the wolves you are
remember how you sing
like the men you may be
let no one tell you these days are easy!
let no one tell you they are not cold
that you do not toil
and bleed
and measure the seasons in the deaths of friends.
never was this world a paradise!
it is built on bones and brambles.
if paradise there be where all is bliss
it be in an Otherworld
where lessons learned in this land
have blossomed into greater sense.
life is a mountain we climb.
those who fall from its slopes may be mourned
but they do not bring the mountain down!
those who claw at its slopes may be slain
but they do not bring the mountain down
and you would not let them if they could.
they are less than worms in a carcass
termites in the wood -
they corrupt what they cannot enjoy
and from these
we take our supper!
what are you?
Furious Lament
- this is when they howl together; wordless, though of course there've been no words, not really, just the shape of them, poetry dredged up out've wolf-voices, but this this is real wordlessness raw sound braiding one around the other -
what are you?
- blooming, blossoming, into another-shape, not a wolf-shape this, no, a shape that belongs to these, muscle-bound shape, preternaturally dextrous, war-shape, warrior's-shape, Rage's shape, battle-form -
see?
- finish with a ROAR.
Echoes of the Lost
They do not stay in their wolf skins for wolf skins are for the hunt and for shadows and for feasting. Not for war. Not for the call of it. The alarm hurled into the air not a wail of foreboding but a roar of warning.
And he bursts up into his war form beside his sister and he towers over her and the fur in this form is black as the night around them and their voice is like the earth opened up to swallow all those things that would see Her burn.
That is what they are.
- and then (at least) the Fianna takes a seat (for now). Wet that whistle for more tales. Cede the floor to Echoes of the Lost or somebody else.