Creationism: The Delight of Design; Poetry from the Glass Citadel
"But a Robin Egg"
From some other types of people
you’ll hear another story of creation:
Earth is but a Robin Egg.
So, I looked at a robin egg one day,
and saw its blue coat speckled in
landlike dots, brown as the soil
that daily stains my hands.
I have to agree.
They also claim further
that I should listen to the bird calls,
and so I did. I heard, and stared —
As they predicted, I could not find
who that bird was calling to,
for the forest was clear save us.
But then I ask of the Robin,
the one that laid the egg that we
sanctimoniously tread on;
They have no answers.
I know one day, though
that the Robin will come home
and call her child
to the skies with her.
"Why the Moon has Craters"
Before the mosquito knew of the blood of our veins,
It knew not its purpose.
Yet in that time before us it spied creation’s first tear,
And sought that moon.
That dolorous sphere sunk low in the midnight sky,
Willingly giving light.
It found shimmering there that radiant first gift,
And sipped its water.
From sweet spot to sweetest spot the mosquito flew,
New craters forming.
By then a damselfly spied the treacherous mosquito,
Then chased the insect.
The mosquito, slowed and engorged from liquid weight,
Expunged itself clean.
That warming weight formed that second lesser moon,
The afternoon sun.
"Why the Moon Sometimes Shines During the Day"
And so it came, when well before the end of summer all the work was done early because the moon had shone its light to guide the mules and plows throughout the nights, that the farmers thought to reward the moon. Two-hundred barrels they all did fill, overbrimming with the green smoking leaves that they keep tended upon that fair heather.
The man in the moon did grin from across all her surface, and took the leaves and smoked them well past the morning, now well before evening. Bushel after bushel was billowed, until the sky was wallowed with the rings of such smoke.
The farmers of course saw how from those first clouds the water did gather. And so from now on, on the eve of Spring’s green arrival, the farmers do indulge in their storehouses, and emerge with ten thousand pecks together to get the moon to billow forth the rains this year.
"How the First Tree Was Born"
The first of the blades of grass,
Though small in stature,
Was proud to be a blade of grass.
The second of the blades of grass,
Though small in stature,
Was shorter than the first,
And so grew jealous at being second.
So, it swallowed up more sun,
And plastered its sides,
Reaching higher than the first,
Who was still content.
The second then outstretched,
Its newfound leaves stealing
All light the first one needed,
Killing it out of jealousy.
"The Felling of the Night"
Night fell with the force of a thousand silver mirrors,
crushing the Sun back into its hidden home, broken
like how clocks always are; darkness then came at
the speed of light, plaguing all the grassy knolls and
secret spots with a blinding blackness.
Atop the highest rock atop of the highest hill he stood,
colours of his cloak turned to that of his adversary;
the champion of the Sun did not fear defeat, defeat
as painful as the destruction of the sun. The champion
knew of its needed task, and performed.
Performed as an actor, rehearsing that repeated scene;
fending off darkness, the purchase of torchlight enough
to illuminate the darkness of covers; but, the champion’s
light did flicker as that mercenarial wind enacted its part,
creating the stars by happenstance.
After many hours, the champion did enter the Sun’s abode;
colours of the night losing all ground as the reborn Sun
did re-emerge with the invigorated soul of its consumed
champion; and so every night, the moon does cross the sky
and defeat the night to bring new day.