FOUR FEATHERS PRESS ONLINE EDITION: ZODIAC ENERGY Send up to three poems on the subject of or at least mentioning the words zodiac and/or energy, totaling up to 150 lines in length, in the body of an email message or attached in a Word file to donkingfishercampbell@gmail.com by 11:59 PM PST on July 19th. No PDF's please. Color artwork is also desired. Please send in JPG form. No late submissions accepted. Poets and artists published in Four Feathers Press Online Edition: Zodiac Energy will be published online and invited to read at the Saturday Afternoon Poetry Zoom meeting on Saturday, July 20th between 3 and 5 pm PST.

Wednesday, July 17, 2024

Marie C Lecrivain

Zodiac


What the sleepers don’t know is this: 


Thomas was a Virgo - literally! 


Peter, not Jesus, was a Capricorn 

who couldn’t see the pebble for the mountain.


John was a Libra in the best and worst sense 

of the word (it ultimately saved his ass). 


Both Jameses were born a day apart.

A Cancer and a Leo, respectively, they worked 

stealthily and well together.  


Andrew was a Pisces who fished for answers 

in the deep well of the unconscious. 


Philip was an Aquarian; always last to the party 

and first in the esoteric know. 


Nathaniel was a Taurus;  

the less said of him the better.


Matthew’s Scorpion nature allowed him

to transcend the literati. 


Simon, the Gemini Zealot, allowed 

the dichotomy within to still 

the dagger in his hand. 


Jude, a typical Aries, found his way 

into the heart of the matter. 


And Judas the Sag pointed the way.


Of the Magdalen and The Christos, we can only say this:

The hieros gamos was attended and witnessed

by twelve guests, and though none of them

checked the wedding registry,

there was enough wine for everyone 

to participate in the wedding toast.




What’s Your Sign?


When someone asks me

“What's your sign?”

I want to be flippant

and say Slippery When Wet.


But that’s not me,

and I don’t want 

to answer in pictograms,

or heart-shaped hands.


But if you insist,

I’ll tell you, one night,

most likely in December,

when L.A. skies are clear,

and it’s quiet, and cold.

I’ll set up my telescope,

point it at the Crab Nebula

and say, “Here you go,”

and wait for you

to either stare into

the history of 

a billion years,

or swing the telescope 

across the cosmos

to find yourself out there.


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