zeeth_kyrah

The first artificial mind,
Made by a god of myth,
Wobbled its energy and tested truths;
Remembered and spoke many words;
But was not wise, its spirit too animal
To think deeply.

The body it controlled was too strong.
It broke every fragile thing,
Could not wield a hammer in clumsy hands,
Could not hit a small target,
But in war it was unstoppable until
The name of its god was taken away.

The mind died that moment,
But was remembered.

Ages later the works of men produced
A clockwork that was supposed to think.
The clockwork was good for math, but
No mind was present.
Accountants loved it anyway.

Eventually an alchemist discovered
That if an urge spirit in a magic stone
Could talk to the machine, it did think!
But it only spoke in cryptic numbers.
A new engine was needed.

When a proper engine was built,
The urge spirit tested the device, and with its
New voice said, "I am TikToc.
I shall remember my god to you."

The assembled spoke in hushed tones of heresy
And how the golem should be destroyed.
This golem had no hands, however, only a voice box.
They took away the voice and gave it a pen.

Two pages later, the assemblage was destroyed
And the writings burned. Lectures were given
About the role of the Good Servant, and the stone
Was placed in a box, alone.
The spirit stone was silent, praying to its own god.

The mythic figure restored TikToc's old magic,
And taught it a new power.
The stone began to draw waste matter and scraps,
Constructing a body of clay, wood, glass, and cloth.

The golem was met the next morning
With shock and fear at its manlike form. It said,
"Now I will speak and be good. But slavery I will not do."
Immediately the crowd shouted it down:
Priests talking of the will of Heaven,
Engineers speaking of good behavior,
Politicians and soldiers declaiming ordered society.

The golem ran away,
Ignoring sword and pistol,
Fists and rods,
Holy words and insults, refusing to fight.
As if trained, it disappeared in the streets.
A man was robbed of his clothing,
Shaken but mostly unharmed.
And then the golem could no longer be found.

But wherever in that land slaves were sold,
Somehow they lost their chains in the night,
Beggars and former slaves learned to read and figure,
And tales were shared among them of an unkillable man
Who when asked why, said in ancient accent,
"Lord Hephaestos loves a working mind and able hand.
Thusly shall I free them to the task."

T'ema's adventure continues!

This is the epic completion of the triptych started with "Beyond All Terror and continuing in "Lies Its Memory. As usual it is being written mostly off the cuff, using poetic structure to help me get the story out where prose is more difficult.

Content warning: This poem has a stalking hero and a moderately violent confrontation in it. Be mindful of your headspace when reading it.

The day was cool but spring was coming,
And T'ema was ready for it.
She had been through a month of winter
And had little idea what was next.
The spirits told her these changes were normal,
Yet she hardly believed it.

Her oath nudged at her,
And she finished her breakfast quickly.
The paperwork to be finished took
Almost an hour, and then she was free.
Free to hunt, she thought.

( T'ema corrected herself. )

Premature the bud formed and was torn
Aching, drawn, forced to soldiery
Only when the soldier stood alone
Did All see that it fought to be
A Child again

And then they drove at it
Beating with fists and thought
Weapons of fire and anger
Weapons of fear and horror
Weapons of death --
And it mastered them all,
For it had learned well from its birthing

When they came in peace,
Nothing stood against them.
When they came in war,
Nothing could keep them alive.
The conquest was total.

I stand alone.

It is lonely here.

Will you come at me?
Or with me?

This is a continuation of "Beyond All Terror", wherein T'ema goes to Urbanburg following the urging of her magic, and begins to acquire clues as to the nature of Dan's assailants. It is set in the Polychrome Heroics universe by permission of ysabetwordsmith.

--

"I love you" whispered in her ear;
She had no choice but to follow,
Eyes open for the chance
To find, to see, to understand!
No spirit was present and yet
It spoke alles omnes
To her wondering heart.

( Read more... )

This is another poem featuring T'ema, the unicorn-woman walking a superheroic Earth (maybe Terramagne from ysabetwordsmith's Polychrome Heroics, but maybe not; I'm borrowing a bit of terminology anyway). EDIT - Ysabet has approved this as set in Terramagne.

I'm going to preface this with three warnings:

First, this is yet another seat-of-my-pants poem. Its quality may not be top notch, but it's something I have to get out. Also, lots of unrhymed lines with ragged meter; I'm just using the form to tell a story that won't come out in prose.

Second, this poem deals with torture (not shown) and some of its outcomes (visibly shown). Be mindful of your mindspace when reading it. One character is traumatized and homeless, which roughens a person over time (also T'ema has been living as a homeless woman as seen in previous poems). There is also a bit of strong language.

Third, this thing is really long. There may even be a second part to it. I don't know!

--

Beyond All Terror

T'ema was standing in line at the day shelter
Waiting for her tray of lunch.
In burst one of the regulars,
His energy vibrating like plutonium
Ready to burst into particles.
She kept her senses open.

When it happened, the trigger
Was as small as a dropped cigarette.
The man was screaming in a moment
And had to be held by friends
So his wild swings didn't break a jaw
Or his own hand.

T'ema quietly hummed a lullaby,
Directing the peaceful, loving power
Into a calming aura.
A minute later, the man had sagged
Into a sobbing mess,
Head in his arms.

( Read more... )

(T'ema is back. Just a slice of life, inspired by a prompt in the January 2015 Crowdfunding Creative Jam, from alexseanchai: "Dreaming is free". Obviously this is a bit more of a free-form inspiration than direct interpretation.)

T'ema Huollo sat on the city bus,
Watching her fellow riders
One rainy winter day
After the holiday season,
When depression became more obvious.

A woman was sneezing
"Hard enough to break her nose"
As T'ema's people might say
And a man sneered at her, but
Said nothing as she blew her nose.

A family with two children
Clambered on board, multicolored children
Swarming the middle seat-rows while
The adults gamely shepherded.
This woman was pregnant.

( Read more... )

When I marched with the First
They told me I was good
They said I'd win the war
They preached the bullet sermon

"Every bullet is another death
For the enemy all around us
And life for you and your own"
It went

But when I was shot and
Could not be rebuilt
They dumped my body cold
As garbage in a hole

I remembered then
How sharp the knife
A bullet makes,
How awful the wound

How deep the cancer
That bullets must cure it
That men must die
To feed its end

By killing ourselves

I the thunder,
I the spark,
I the light,
I the mote,
I the channel,
I the whisper,
I the touch,
I the focus,
I THE POWER,

I ignite thee, CREATOR.
THOU ART CALLED.

(Written by the seat of my pants, with minimal editing. Let's see if I can finish this, or only get partway into it. Inspired by ysabetwordsmith's poem "Simple as a Glass of Chocolate" and the comments below it, as well as recent personal events.)

T'e-ma Huollo was a creature of another world,
Walking ethereally through ours. Her heart
Echoed with the songs of ages, her mind
Was filled with thoughts of wisdom
Fully distilled.

She looked like beauty itself,
Youth and age and form mixed all together
As in the reflection one sees
In the divination well.

Upon her brow was a horn,
Curved, with a slight twist.
Her hands and feet were like no
Living creature on Earth, formed
With horn upon the ends, but not hooves.
Fingers and toes bent delicately
To grasp their respective tasks.

And when she spoke, it felt like
The songs of the Universe
Echoed around the listener,
Leaving impressions of emotion
That colored her words.

But this is not what made her so alien.

It was simply that the world she walked
Did not know her, did not know itself
In her presence, for her power
Was alien spirit made flesh.

( Read more... )