The Phoenix - Philosophical Vignettes
By David Gosselin
It was upon a quiet night
As graying clouds raced past the moon.
A sage and pupil made their way
Into a deep and darkened wood.
Among a sea of silent pines,
They traveled the uncertain trail.
But after wandering the night,
They finally settled for rest.
They found a grot and set up camp
And made a fire to warm their limbs.
But as they rested by the flames
And thought about their trying day,
A mysterious glowing light
Appeared before the weary twain.
It shone unlike the sun or stars;
It had a strange and tempered hue.
But as the source of light remained
Unseen among the glistening fog,
The master and his pupil chose
To make their way towards the light.
To both the travelers’ surprise,
They came upon a phoenix nest.
The phoenix sat there purple-plumed
And covered in a coat of fire.
It lay among the glowing rocks
Where it had made what seemed its nest.
“What purpose has this beast inside
These woods, master,” the boy questioned.
“Does he not live among the sands
And scorching heat of desert climes?”
“Such birds are born in many worlds
And live out many lives,” said the sage.
“For, that bright bird dies many times—
Many times more than you’d believe.”
“How painful then,” the student said,
“To have to die so many times.”
The master turned towards the boy,
“It’s also reborn many times.”
“Its death is not well understood,
But even less is its rebirth.”
“For, one’s death is not what men fear,”
The master said, “They fear rebirth.”
But as the sage and student stood
Discoursing by the creature’s nest,
It suddenly opened its wings,
And flew into the starry sky.
Image by Dong Bi Hua
David B. Gosselin is a poet, translator, writer, and researcher in Montreal, Canada. He is Editor-in-Chief of The Chained Muse. His epic in blank verse, Athena, appears in the latest issue of New Lyre Magazine.
Chinese Mountain Man: Dreams
Now after many, many years, And after many, many tears, Alas, they’d reached the mountain top— The summit which so many sought. Under the heavens’ starry shrouds, The sage and boy walked through the clouds Where scarlet moonlight gently bathed Each glistening slope and snowy cave.
Chinese Mountain Man: The Climb
Who goes there, wandering About the mists and the rains? Among the alpine crests And mountains’ crystal streams? A Chinese mountain man Treks up the steep defiles. And with him follows close His pupil short of breath. They walk among the pines, Which rise from every crag.
The Night Sky
Trekking among the steep defiles, Trailed by the sage, a young boy tried To use the dim-lit stars in hopes Of finding some path or some guide To help him climb the rocky slopes. They made their way among the fog Which stalked them now for many nights,
The Dragon Slayers
The sage and pupil made their way Along a snowy promontory. With jagged ridges far below, Stern crests and cornices above, They trekked towards the dragon’s grot, Which lay among the snowy crags. But as they neared the creature’s den, The boy began voicing his doubts.
Little Things
Still far below the dreamed-of peaks, The trekkers scaled a mountainside. They climbed up damp and calcined walls, Scaled rocky ledges and steep cliffs. The young boy quickly grappled stones, Swiftly ascending up each crag. His grip was anxious and zealous,
The Mountain Wood
A sage and pupil made their way Into a deep and darkened wood. They searched and wandered places Where, for years, no traveler would. The underbrush, the damp-cool swamps And thorny vines delayed their climb; And countless unknown fruits hung from
The Gorge
The travelers had reached a gorge Whose darkness they would have to breach. The mountaintops lay far ahead— “Such darkness has a lot to teach,” The master said while looking down The river gorge’s darkened depths— The frightened boy sighed deep, and looked
Black Mountain Clouds
A horde of gaunt gossamer clouds Came drifting through the gloomy sky— Thick mists poured down over the peaks, Wafting about the frigid air —Like vapors from a witch’s spell— Bubbling, foaming, frothing, until The sable brim was overflowed, And curses on cursed pinions flew.
That was excellent. Thank you.