| CARVIEW |
I am blind to everything but the blurred threads
of your garment ..
I kneel;
I bow my head;
I incline my soul.
I feel your sorrow;
I weep;
I shudder;
Mea culpa; mea culpa;
mea maxima culpa.
I am deaf to everything but your eternal pulse.
I understand nothing of this world
but the spirit of love
You breathe …
You wait, Lord,
beyond the tomb,
beyond the pain,
beyond the fear,
to hear the footsteps of the fallen
follow, penitent, in yours …
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I read words which dripped blood
from the abattoirs of history;
torture,
the applied psychology of fear;
a contemporary rendition.
I sensed the merciless power of power:
perdition –
Inchoate thoughts shamble and lurch
haphazardly –
I understood the sophistry
of justified pain
in the discarded ethics of the inhumane.
In the wailings of a broken mind
I heard the seared soul of humankind –
Formless strings of words
ramble in search of meaning –
Like a spreading stain
coercion bleeds into the statutes
of the state:
no truth is true declared the sane
for thus it was decreed
that untruth is inviolate.
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Thy love, my God, the eternal spring,
the source of hope –
the inexhaustible well.
The purple crocus blooms imperial;
from the cold winter earth
it bursts, my God, resplendent
into Thy light.
To witness the birth
of an unfolding flower,
is drama, is mystery, is Thy power transcendent.
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Clerestory
At Tintern,
within the gaunt tracery of stone,
the flames of Faith still burn –
winged fire of praise and prayer
permeates.
The monks intone.
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A holy child
is sleeping;
born beneath
an eastern star;
the promised one, the saviour,
The Messiah.
No silken canopies
enfold this royal cradle;
no rich accoutrements
adorn His birthplace –
in this lowly stable
where He lies –
the King of Kings –
in His mother’s arms.
She is weeping ..
Does she visualise
a crown of thorns
above His infant face
for our redemption –
and His gift of love
and grace;
her son’s sacrifice?
]]>white moonlight floods the night.
From the ash tree
a tawny owl calls repetitively.
His unmistakeable notes haunt the cold air.
I await an answering response;
her softer song,
call and reply –
that autumnal antiphon.
In the formal garden
a curvilinear fountain
controls the water flow;
confined by the sharp geometry of a pool
rippling liquid stills.
Languid fish glow golden beneath
their unruffled sky
swimming in silence among reflected clouds ..
Beyond the grey stone walls
ewes lie resting in the sun, ruminative;
their lambs nibbling the novelty of grass
where the land dips down to the unconfined sea
and rough waves invade the sea-caves .
© [Marya] and [atomsofstars], [2014]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Marya] and [atomsofstars] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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Thoughts breathing ..
words struggle for air ..
some kind of poetic expression
is born, mute, in my mind.
I scuff through leaves
like a heedless child
while turbulent clouds
harass the blue of the sky –
then I see in the drama above me
some kind of poetic expression ..
in the variable pulse of emotion;
does he or does he not love me?
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In the temple of the woods
snowdrops,
with meek submission,
bow their heads
in pure white hoods
in homage to their lord,
the sun ..
In slow procession,
these acolytes
with green-tipped hems;
vestal virgins of the Spring,
hold aloft on strong, slim stems,
the hope that dark Winter’s rule
is ending … .
Into the heart of Spring I gaze;
into the mysterious centre ..
this tender-seeming plant,
defying storms and rain;
offers to the fitful sun
its pale petals
of perfection ..
another Winter; another Spring;
the lengthening of the days;
the cycle of the seasons;
the revolving Earth;
the sweet mystery of the primrose;
renewal and rebirth … .