Love poem (Untitled)

July 31, 2014

How mortal eyes behold dawn-light
the manner he beholds me.
Be I fragile as a torn feather,
a snowflake whose crystals have touched warmth.
Mind the river swelling its flood-banks,
giving bounty so green.

….A river perpetually flowing.
Mind the fox pup playing
laving paw-prints so deep in spring mud
where bushes bloom.
…Happiness ever yours.

 

garden of eden

Eventide

April 7, 2014

Why for, we seek immortality and dreams?

Is time numbered by hours seated at a window wishing,

days spent counting coins,

months reaping and gathering?

By years rapt in love’s fires,

within age’s wintry night?

 

The sower toils golden fields, eyes vigilant

yet tends his father’s grave.

Children skip over gardens adance,

yet behold the eagle’s distant flight.

Friars pray in cloisters adorned,

yet sing evening’s requiem.

 

Death seizes and respects not.

Its day sure as resting sun.

Sure as the gnat circles in midday,

As lambs in darkness follow only their herder.

This silent visitor, the faceless judge,

beckons both doors of young and old.

 

Whilst plagued beggars shiver,

and consumption claims kings,

Weavers and merchants wail,

as virgins travail.

Men, all of men,

shall languish.

memento-mori-by-dh-at-rylands-library1

Non Serviam

September 10, 2013

Non Serviam.

 

You left the altar standing empty, full of dust,

so you could string fair women like pearls with fine verse,

so you could pluck the pleasures of life.

Yet you sing no poems and life gives no pleasure.

 

The work of His hands, you turned for ambition,

wordly treasures by the work of your hands gained.

Yet you lifted a cup of lowly ashes

saying: “Behold, my pain”

 

Like a shepherd, you sought your sheep,

but nay, found only your lonely self

You left, young lover, to find love,

but nay, only sadness.

 

Through fields afar and adrift,

you wandered when the angelus tolled.

Your heels buried by earthen sod,

you dared not.

 

The moors became your home.

The trumpeting lark’s strophe, your Gospel.

Dancing maid upon the meade,

your courage lost.

 

Your vows of merrymaking

lay dying, scattered amongst mere swine,

whose scraps you eat as bread,

in mournful mirth.

 

After love’s distant reaches, you embarked,

yet farthest removed from love.

You leave heaven’s share for heaven,

a requiem for pious souls.

 

Come eventide, angels plea in earnest,

that prodigal lips make bold to praise.

And shall your resounding hymn be one of: “Peccavi

-          or “Non Serviam”?

 

 

* Non Serviam, is Latin for: “I will not serve”. Peccavi, is Latin for “I have sinned”.

De Profundis

July 14, 2013

I plummeted down,

that labyrinthine way,

where deep calls upon deep.

There, I wrestled the waves,

the murk-laden crests, drowning sweeps, fell sands.

Besot, my soul,

laid waste everything in me

like blackest lead.

Tears beyond count,

loud lamentation aspersed, feeds the salty swirl.

Aphrodite, her foamy tomb,

so fair, verdant, livid,

made naught.

Sirens trumpet-call,

taunting love never-met, never meant to be,

Hades open-mawed,

the old devestatrix,

welcome waits.

Oh that I might sink into oblivion!

Buried in sweet pain,

sweetest might forget, ere sharpest to fight.

Dare I stay,

where no solace, dark mist can depart,

no hope alights, no love echo?

 

444px-de-profundis-1

Mater Dolorosa

July 9, 2013

Oh, sweet mother of the blessed one,

how far a path of darkness you trod,

pierced first by daggers of bitter prophecy,

pierced second by most-terrible loss.

 

You found him there, your son,

declaring independence from earthly things.

You saw him once, fallen and bruised,

and offered a mother’s hands.

 

His small boyish frame, you could not imagine,

yet he flourished like the yearling lamb.

 

Oh most severe was death’s dim shadow

when your little boy leaned against the cedar,

when he took up his hammer at dawn.

 

How you knew he was a priest,

unlike those who slaughtered beasts.

 

No, your boy, once grown,

would offer himself, the lamb,

clothed in scarlet vestments,

wearing the miter of thorns.

 

And you, kindly ewe,

will offer the incense of bitter tears.

His “consummatum

you shall answer “be it done.”

 

Image

Psalm of Lament

March 24, 2013

Image

 

Psalm of Lament.

 

Why, my Lord must this hurt?

 

Because my child, this world is thorns…

 

Was I ever a fair child?

Injured from my youth, tossed away, maimed.

After the long tunnel of darkness, I entered the light

where the Lord’s children are maimed.

 

I said:

Lord did thou rescue me from sin, my own self-inflicted death,

so I may become as a dog despised?

 

They once hated me because I was lost, sick, cursed.

Now they conspire against me, my family,

because I am found, healed, blessed.

 

Lord, I trusted you…

The shell of my former soul, left behind like dross

sunken on the bottom of an iron-smelt.

Rising, a phoenix, I cried out to the world.

Instead, they ignored me, clipped my wings, cast me away.

 

“One of them” mocked and defiled…your child.

Lord, look at your own, beloved firstborn,

there cut, bleeding…esteemed not.

 

Was he the fairest of the fair?

He who cried: Why God hast thou forsaken?

Because my child, the next world is a Kingdom…

 

I said:

Hope in you still, my Lord…

for your lead rod is perfect, laden in gold.

 

Take me from these thorns.

Lick my wounds; count the bones that were crushed,

and lift me from this dark vale.

Jinn

January 28, 2013

In dreams and apparitions I arise,

aloft on wings of gold,

tempting forth luckless wishes.

I make my playground betwixt heaven and earth,

astride a torrent of smokeless fire.

If I bring thee fortune, it is because I so choose

yet my ruby-eyed dice rattle the name: “mischief”.

 

A game I play in measureless deeps,

skipping amongst sprites,

taking maidens, leaving sheep.

With thunderous voice, I scatter the four winds,

play Solomon’s chords on my flute.

If I shake mountains, it is because I so please

yet my diamond-shod feet make no sound.

 

You do not dare summon me,

rouse the ifrit’s fiery heart,

stitch together star-crossed portals.

Know, my wages destroy those faint of heart,

but raise palaces from rubbish heaps.

Come closer, mortal, your wish is my command

yet only if the chips fall rightly.

 

Image

The Age Old Battle

December 8, 2012

ScannedImage001_1

 

 

Satan wraps upon the Holy Door

With unveiled shadow clothed,

Claws atop marble tread.

His talons round the altar rail.

Snap, summon and rouse

Rome’s old Bishop from eventide prayer.

Frail humanity doth behold

The Light-Bearing Angel everlasting.

emerald eyes aloft,

chill heels below.

And as the most-glorious

Chorus of old

Did Satan’s voice sweetly ring

From sweetest lips untold:

 

 

“Doest thou well a Lord to hail

and call upon his name…”

The bishop unmoved

royal crosier his cold hands grip

yet fearful the reply”

“Devil, I know you not, hear ye, it is written

The Lord God alone, shall ye serve.”

Wings black of flaxen flesh

and wondrous plume,

The Fallen unfolds.

“You were told not

that if thou serve the true world-lord,

all glory on earth and power,

shall be unto thee.”

 

 

Follow the bishop’s timid protest:

“All known to me is this:

If thou seek first the Kingdom of Heaven,

all good things shall come to thee.”

In thunder rapt and darkness evermore

shouts the devil anon:

“Fool confess that I am thine king

and the Kingdom mine

before God smites thee for foolery!”

“By the blood

of the New Sacrifice

and the name of Him, who offered thus forth

get thee behind me!”

 

 

Did Satan leap like starlight

great limbs pressed the frescoed ceiling.

Bid he oncemore the bishop

praise to his unholy name.

And oncemore the cleric refrained:

“Hath Lord Christ, own Son of God sworn

The gates of Hell shall not prevail.”

Clawed hand swift,

jeweled gaze intent,

the devil’s final utterance fall

as wetted stones downcast:

“Because thou refused mine accord

of all glories and treasures, an offer invaluable,

I shall never cease my tireless attack

upon ye…

May your age sting ye

and thine flock rebel against ye.

May heresy and confusions multiply like wild grass,

Disturbing your brethren.

Great strife visit the house

entrusted unto you,

many to come after shall pollute thy oversee

defile thy apostle’s holy throne.

Error and unrest seize thy people

so they will even deny the Lord among them.

They shall fall deaf to a shepherd’s call,

ravaged by wolves.

Curses unspeakable, I now fulfill

against anything named “holy”

 

 

Satan took leave sudden.

Trail swirls behind of serpentine smoke

holding putrid embrace.

At last quivering,

the bishop did stand.

Lips parting no sound

In darkness silence bequeathed.

His hands met rest

with countenance resolute, concluded even-prayer.

An Ode to Chastity

October 6, 2012

O state of chastity!
Bold as the white lily,
come first spring
from an untouched well.
Reluctant dewfloss
beneath swelling summer,
which bids all green things to bear their fruits.

Thou art a young boy
tunefully singing
his hymnal psalm,
bent beneath the taskmaster,
blushing before maidens
finely wading in Paschal gowns.You are the whisp
of air that heralds morning.
Veiled thinly, more white
than moon-swaddled night,
keeping many secrets,
hidden away from aged, experienced minds.

Yet with virginal voice
you tell men’s’ ears
the matters of angels.
And unashamed of thy girt loins,
like a sheltered lamb,
you lay thyself happily on hidden altars.

 Picture of St. Aloysius Gonzaga

Doodles at work

July 27, 2012

After being forbidden to doodle on the desk calendar, I took my drawings to scratch paper. Here are my latest doodles in black:

Image

 

poppy on black ^

 

Image

 

spider on black ^

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.