13.8.16

11.8.16

9.8.16

Emblema Æonis Martis
A grim and battle-scarred veteran marches through a frozen, rusty desert. He has brown-black eyes, and grizzled hair, and his beard is short and bristly, and his face is as darkly rufous as the desert through which he walks. He carries an electric halberd – a luminous ruby burns at the centre of its five-bladed head, and red lightning flickers across each blade’s steely surface. Although the parched and frigid air – tangy with dragon’s blood and iron – is as still as stone, his pace billows his long black cloak, and his halberd’s blood red pennant. Many miles are behind him, and many miles lie ahead. He is utterly alone.  The ferrous sands are broken only by scattered, jagged outcrops of shattered obsidian, and the occasional scrawny, black-barked, leafless thorn tree. Save for the blood in his veins, and the contents of his burdensome though constantly lightening water-skins, there is no moisture for a thousand miles around. Plumes of black smoke drift from beyond the horizon, staining the carmine sky, where only a single, low-slung crimson star smoulders, far away at the end of his long, hard road. His footprints stretch out behind him, across the endless sands, in an exactly straight line. Unflagging, unswerving, he soldiers ever onward.

7.8.16

Emblema Æonis Solis
A golden-haired man in a coat of many colours struts across a circular stage, in a circular, roofless theatre. His left hand carries the weeping mask of tragedy. In his right hand, the laughing mask of comedy. His naked face is an empty, featureless blank.  A sea of faces gazes upon him, from the circular yard surrounding all but the back of the stage, and the six storeys of balconies and galleries lining the inner faces of the theatre’s encircling outer wall. They are the faces of every person he has ever known. Many of them are faded, glitching ghosts.  The back of the stage is set into a tall, arched alcove, built into the theatre’s perimeter. Films of ever-shifting scenery are projected onto its walls: impossibly dramatic landscapes with romantic, turbulent sunsets, and cityscapes aglow with pulsing neon – and battlefields, and ballrooms, and a thousand other spectacular disguises.  The ringed outer wall is topped by six towers, like a crown with six tines – golden flags fly from every steeple, fluttering in frankincense and cinnamon-scented breezes. High in the heavens, above the stage’s centre, the noontide Sun watches over all, wearing a smiling, golden-rayed mask.

5.8.16

Emblema Æonis Veneris
Her thorny bones blossom with snow white mayflower, and are coiled with clinging briars bearing pale pink wild roses. Her flesh is foaming, creamy meadowsweet, freckled with purple stars of cranesbill, and buttercups, and violets, and tiny jewels of sky blue periwinkle. Her eyes are a pair of daisies, and her lips are plump pink clover, and cherry blossom blushes in her cheeks. Her hair is trailing woodbine, the colour of milk and honey, all braided with cerise fuchsia, and crowned with a garland of pure white myrtle, like a circlet of exploding stars. Her heart is a magical rose, that can only be glimpsed in dreams – it has petals of all of the colours of sight, and nectar like dreams of the bees, and perfume like heady wine. She is thorny in tooth and claw.   She dances through a valley brimming with blossoming orchards, where the breezes are fragrant with apples, musk and roses – pink and white petals rain down on her like confetti, and forget-me-nots spring up wherever she treads. An emerald-domed palace crowns the valley’s cleft horizon, sailing on the sea of blossom. Its gates are of gleaming copper, and it is ringed by seven malachite minarets. The valley’s sides are patched with pale gold primroses, and its floor is thickly carpeted with fallen blossom and bluebells. Beehives overflow with intoxicating honey, and fountains overflow with rosewater and swans, and dovecotes overflow with cooing doves. A peacock fans his tail, and a nightingale pours his heart out in song.  She carries a crimson apple in her left hand, and her right hand reaches up into the rosy sky, where the morning star blossoms, just out of reach.
Æonum (8) Emblematum (7) Iuppiter (1) Luna (1) Mars (1) Mercurius (1) Saturnus (1) Sigillorum (1) Sol (1) Tabulæ (1) Venus (1)
Copyright 2016 Thomas Jude Barclay Morrison. All rights reserved.