Moran Contemplates Virgins and Dynamos on Orcas Island

Between the blood of wars, I lived on
Beyond the memories of fire
Because the doctors said, “A gift, then,
If you can live another year.”
Now I sit out here, Orcas Island,
And hold the keys in my right hand
That used to open mansion door
And furnace hatch – and fateful war,
All gates of horn. What’s more lasting?
The holocausts where iron forged
My steel and brick, or fires that purged
The town for these it next was cast in?
Tonight, my humble hearth expires –
Seattle steams with Vulcan’s fires.



  1. Angelico Nguyen, Esq., OP says

    Lovely, JOB! I didn’t ‘get’ it until I read Moran’s Wikipedia entry, but a few key facts turned the poem’s tumblers.[1] It’s all good, and the closing sestina is grand.

    • Angelico Nguyen, Esq., OP says

      [1] There is still a poetical obscurity here on which I would appreciate any light anyone can shed. It’s not JOB’s, but Virgil’s: Why did Aeneas pass through the Gates of Horn?

      • I think it goes back to Plato…the gates of ivory woulda made a boring interlude.

        Why Christ’s is not a good story,…


  2. Profound stuff, thanks.

  3. Jonathan Potter says

    Wow, magnificent. You ain’t my kin, but you’re my Push-kin.

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