the colour of our lives

poetry • celebration • faith • nature • humanity • imperfections • glory

Archive for the tag “speculation”

extropy

the new earth will appear, not too far

beyond imagining, and the universe will

resume its holy point of origin. science will

discover, but not care, that its laws were

correct, mostly, for the older cosmos – but

here, matter and energy spring forth from

golden streets while disorder and

chemistry’s potential cascade lose their

entropic pull, yielding helpless to the push

of heaven. a new biology, a blazing life of

fantastic and unimagined subatomics,

draws on its prime and ancient source, free

at last from the old Laws.

the driver

The driver hated
us this morning; standing
hard on the brakes, bus
lurching around each corner.
Getting off, we roll our eyes.

The bus, proxy for
argument lost with his wife,
a bullying boss?
In fuming economy
of words, he masters his day

while we, the passive,
are content, simply, to arrive
intact. We accept
out of respect, selfishness,
perhaps self-recognition.

.

early

“Sulphur isotope data from early Archaean rocks suggest that microbes with metabolisms based on sulphur existed almost 3.5 billion years ago, leading to suggestions that the earliest microbial ecosystems were sulphur-based.”

microfossilsBreathing sulfur, Lucifer’s contrail settles,
flaming, to Earth, tiny acrid engines
building his deep domain to fight a beauty
growing by the Day. Heaven splits from
Earth, and  falling becomes possible;
the Deep is molten, heaving; a
primordial evening and morning pass,
and again; the planet breathes, flourishes
before the Liar finds his reptilian disguise
and brings the brimstone upward. The
tiny traces of creation’s alien dawn
brim in stone, clues for the diligent.

.

Wacey, D., Kilburn, M.R., Saunders, M., Cliff, J. and Brasier, M.D. 2011. Microfossils of sulphur-metabolizing cells in 3.4-billion-year-old rocks of Western Australia. Nature Geoscience 4, 698-702. (http://dx.doi.org/10.1038/ngeo1238)

This year on the feast of the resurrection

This year on the
feast of the resurrection
he makes a plan;
a slow extraction from the
godless halls of the beautiful minds;
a deliberate but passionate
advance towards a life
plucking lost souls from fires, or
nudging the stale and disillusioned
towards Easter’s light.

A rush of terrifying joy;
a choke of unshed tears;
a suspicion of catching
the whisper of divine breath,
join a hope of moving
ever closer to the heart
of things

.

imagined conversations with my adult daughter

  • Do you think it’s weird, you know, that I’m your Dad?
  • Nope.
  • Ok, cool.
  • Dad, it’s gotta be a minor sixth for the harmony!
  • Oh, yeah, sorry.
  • That’s more like it.
  • Remember when you were about eight and I started wearing that ear-ring again?
  • I wanted you to take it out … I still do.
  • Oh.
  • There’s this guy at church … he thinks you can only read the bible properly in Greek.
  • Really? – what do you reckon?
  • He’s such a bonehead, Dad. Sorry, but he is.
  • I love trees!
  • I like it that you’re into the environment, like your mum and me.
  • I would’ve been into it anyway, Dad.

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