Playstation Universe
Johnmichael Simon
Tom Howard/John H. Reid Poetry Contest 2011 (view all the winners)
Most Highly Commended
The boy was mothered by the soft spin of cloud
over the white tumble of rolling waves,
his eyes at home to dolphins, to flying fish,
to autumn leaves, crows and starlings
flung to the sky like a deck of cards,
fluttering with wild cries, carried merciless
of gravity and earth, rising, wheeling
until the dropping wind returned them safe to rest.
By age five, in impersonation, he became a juggler
a trio of softly stitched leather balls
his constant companions, red, blue and yellow
he danced his way between the caravans, behind
the sleeping horses, the lion's cages, his sure
tiny fingers flipping, catching, over his head,
under a lifted leg, one handed, two handed,
as simultaneously he watched the birds in flight
and guessed their paths across the sky, from branch
to branch all skittering in random patterns, so unlike
the stars he observed, lying behind the big tent at night,
their grand procession choreographed by the silence
of an unseen cosmic hand.
Adolescence approached in a whirl of flying objects,
plates on sticks, top hats and painted cups all airborne
to his call—even the magician and the fire eater
were impressed, the fortune teller spun his crystal ball
in awe, prophesized a grand future revealed by his tarot cards.
Yet it was the interlocking wheels of speculation that
captured more his imagination and as his curiosity quickened,
the young man left the circus for a gipsy life, traveling from village to town
trading pots and amulets, potions and powders, fables and poetry
in search of minds as nimble as his own with which to share
his vision of a flying universe.
Somewhere, he told them, he felt sure, all things were connected:
—the dance of zodiacal creatures across the heavens
—the slow crawl of life across the face of time
—the wings of bees, the creaking of the rocks,
the findings that spoke of particles that split, and split again,
each division parting into yet another, so similar to distant
reaches disclosed by telescopes.
Yes, all was connected, he felt sure, behind it all the logic of
invisible hands guiding the clouds, the birds, the stars, the molecules
in much the same way that his quick fingers had juggled balls
and plates and cups. Was it not true that men had split the rainbow
into single bands of color, identified the branches of the genetic tree,
wound wires round magnets to light cities and their libraries?
Why not then, by dexterity of eye and mind, devise a glass through which
the Creator could be discerned, flicking the balls of universes through
their paths of intricacy and delight? He juggled with these concepts
through years of adulthood and approaching age, following each skein
of thought with dimming vision, yet as his glasses frosted, as his years
grew gently towards an unknown destination, his quest eluded him
as into the sleep of night he carried a fading vision: three balls of
red, blue and yellow, a rising wind shaking the trees, a handful of birds
flung to the sky, fluttering towards some unseen refuge, all fading now
against the backdrop of the stars.
2. Marbles
Here we are
at the edge of the universe
playing marbles with the boss
We polish ours between thumb and forefinger
(it's a misty green and blue cat's eye
flecked with white, a real beauty)
and away it rolls across the sand
It gets scratched a bit on the way
loses some of its shine
Now it's the boss's turn, he lets loose a comet,
it sneaks between the orbit of a meteorite cloud
and a large cold planet, smashing aside tons
of hurtling rocks on the way
pow, no rocks, all gone to dust
We spit on our planet, rub it to bring back its shine
but our saliva is acid and only further discolors it
so we roll it back to the line in the sand,
take careful aim
In the meantime the boss is making points,
he shoots at a couple of pulsars, pow, they explode,
zaps a planet past a huge black hole
it veers, wobbles, finally slips into the hole, disappears
Our planet's not looking so good, we find a bottle
of planet cleaner, add a few chemicals of our own,
swish it around in a glass dish, remove it,
dry it off with a couple of tons of carbon monoxide.
That should make it beautiful again, but it doesn't,
some of the white haze seems to be disintegrating,
it looks a bit pitted
The boss is having fun with a couple of nebulae,
he spins some supergravity at them and they
change direction, dance like fireflies
Our planet seems somehow to have lost its roundness
we light a couple of huge atomic fires, pass it through
them carefully, just to soften it enough so we can
roll it around, restore its perfect shape, but it doesn't
work, some of the blue has invaded the outlines of the green
and a few large brown discolorations appear
that we hadn't noticed before
Too late we realize that we've got to make our play now,
but our planet's in real bad shape, it's lost its smoothness
altogether, we flick it as best as we can saying a little prayer
under our breath and off it goes, hopping and weaving across
the sand like a dog with only two legs. Soon it disappears
into a cloud of cosmic debris and gets lost in a storm
of misshapen moons, we can't find it in all that whirling stuff
We look at the boss sort of coy, like the novices we are,
hoping he'll give us another cat's eye to play with,
let us have another chance
But he's busy with his own end game. Pow, another nebula, pow,
a whole bunch of them, he's picking them up now, putting them in his
bag which is swelling by the minute. He's like a snooker master,
pocketing the balls expertly, one by one, the red ball, the brown
ball, the pink ball. All gone
Then he sets them all again in a triangle, lines them up,
lets off a thunderous opening shot, smash, a big bang and they all
fly apart, some of them already going into pockets
What about us, we ask. Can we have another chance, try again?
Sorry kids, he says, go back to school, study a bit, get smarter,
learn how to take care of your marbles. Come back when you grow up
Then he lets loose with some really dazzling impossible shots,
bouncing them off wall after wall effortlessly, finally pocketing
the whole lot
See you kids, he says, have a good day in school, then he smiles
that special knowing smile of his, winks at us
You can't beat the boss, he's the best
