Afterlife

 

 

Unum, duo, tria, I count the elements on a metronome,

their numbered symbols make a mark’d meter,

A frantic danse macabre over a world of processes.

O, that sublimation would carry me away,

the lighter above the heavy,

a team of angels tromping above the earth,

the fiery seraphim, who announce, holy, holy, holy.

O that I be transmuted,

blackest dross to fairest gold,

in the blue hours before dawn.

O that I climb to heaven,

Aboard my dreams, rocked by chopped ocean,

threatened by deepest seas

and glaring leviathan, wispy-tongued.

May I close ears to the siren

who calls strident, rimed-poetry,

fantastic alchemy, grave fables.

Abroad the silver-tipped wings of albatross,

fluttering pinions of fairies,

folded pelage of nymphs,

May I ascend, ascend the gracious realm,

my elysian field, my Eden… paradise,

for which I long in sighs and lament,

psalm, dirge and hymn.

Oh angels, bring me, aloft,

along the pearled steps,

Where cares fall amidst the lilies,

where worry fades within the sun

which knows no setting, no dusk,

no bugle-call, no sleep at the earth’s end.

 

 

Adoration

Meek, gentle, pure,
your beauty makes the heart ache.
Holy warmth radiates from your figure, fair and white.
I wish to embrace.
Longing fills the deepest void,
to make all that is yours, my own.
and all that is my own, yours.
The strong one who kneels down,
wise one who listens,
waits patiently.
Son, husband, father, brother,
the new man descending into his garden,
fervent, full and round as the sun.
Everything worth fighting for, worth protecting,
worth loving.
Through the eyes of the soul, I see

my Christ.

.

Morning Prayer

Into the forest glistening, damp,
I traversed.
Rustling grass, my nave,
Arched canopy above, my vault,
white moths twinkling, my candles.
Oh blue warbler, my cantor in his forked loft!
Twigs and stones, my resting place
among things green, ancient, and alive.
Round and round, squirrels leap
in liturgy of chase and play
The spotted owl calls out an antiphon.
My nostrils inhale musky woods,
reminding me of something forgotten.
Here, time lies still,
hushed, savage and sacred.
Birds and beasts sing,
sing the morning-prayer with me!

Psalm of Lament

 

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.

The Age Old Battle

 

 

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.

Sacred

“And whence is this to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?”

– Luke 1:43

 

 

How I look into your eyes where dusky shapes dance

like the moon’s face strewn with flowers,

golden, blue, pink and ivory white.

gathered a fountain around,

where love and agony meet?

 

Your palace within,

Stairwells that you traverse,

astride the black steed of death,

clutching to your breast,

the light of life.

 

O gaze so ancient! O heart sublime!

 

How do I stand before you, matronly shadow, matronly light,

encompassed by angels ,

a queen, carried aloft

upon the litter of pearled clouds

one hand pointing above, feet fixed below?

 

O arms so comely! O royalty so impassioned!

 

How do I speak unto that singular woman,

blessed throughout generations,

wiped clean by God’s florid brushstroke,

a field of scarlet and snow,

within whom love and agony rest?

 

Wrapped up in gauzy, sacred lace,

stunned, senseless, yet raptured from all fear,

I dare not echo the angel’s hail.

No, childlike, my voice cries, small and abrupt:

“My Lady, stay…and do not leave me.”

 

“Maria” by Rachel M. Gohlman

The Elixir

A silence falls

cast’d ethereal darkness across the peopled plain.

Nothing stirs,

all intent on torch-lights, reddened, six-fold,

 that twinkle afore our collective eye.

Muttering

from vested, steadfast lips yonder.

Then behold,

amid incense-smoke swaddled,

the tri-part bell’s clarion trill announce,

a chalice alift and declared thus:

the blood of God,

whence partaken, life eternal bestow’d.

I

before the True Alchemy bow’d.

Wretched

my soul sent aloft desirous

swore that from this elixir,

I shall henceforth

never be kept.

 

 

“The Celestial Liturgy” – By Rachel M Gohlman (me)

The Priest

Before the crimson veil,

Betwixt the flesh and heavens, lips trembling,

thou stands.

 

Terror does climb aloft

To those golden places of fire and gossamer smoke,

silk belaying the clouds, parting trumpet voice.

 

Be this your own fear

… or for thy people?

 

O, thy crooked race!

Beleaguered, stiff-necked, stone-hearted,

Their iniquity heaped upon iniquity.

O thy people!

 

And what be it that, yourself deeply indebted,

may appear hence pleading for them?

 

What sacrifice have you?

O my people!

 

Shoulders draped in white, whitest of whites,

Bejeweled circlet, leaden like many burdens,

heavy upon thy brow,

Soot and dusts of ashen penance smeared over your beating heart.

 

Thou were chosen, yes thou,

scapegoat for their sins,

to enter the solemn, neglected and empty place,

beyond death’s ancient veil.

 

Fear grips yor soul,

crippled, genuflecting before a Justice too just to bear.

 

What sacrifice have you?

O my people!

 

For I delight not in rich fare,

No fattened-loin, sodden or marbled pink,

First-fruits, thy libations, resins,

and hearty cereals are unsightly unto me!

 

 

Thou fasting days, new-moons, prayers and sacrifices

account as nothing.

Vain cries I will not hear.

 

Quaking, fist striking your breast,

soul immersed by godly fear,

a crumpled, feeble prisoner

Beneath the divine floods, waves that pummel and rise.

 

Say you:

“No pleasurable offering I have,

Nothing I present aside sins and earthly gifts unfitting.

My God, what I possess is knowledge

that Thee suffers our eternal stain, our disobedience, our plight,

How we break, again and again,

from your outstretched hands!

 

Grave be a Father’s despairing over His lost children…

Immense toil, O God, over this awry creation,

O Thou everlasting tears and greater, most-greatest love!

 

 

I offer,

unto Thee:

Thine own embittered mercy!”

 

And this, Almighty God overlooked,

His own sacrifice impassioned, granted to these undeserving creatures,

A love so perfect as His bestowed…

And in it, saw no fault.

 

Priest before the Ark of the Covenant.

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Untitled.

The swarthy angel perched

upon my bedside

raven wings ashroud,

whispered to me in that dead tongue

of devils and priests:

Veni, veni, venias

ne me mori facias.

A forgotten song

serenade for the dead

sung beneath archways,

where I sought my beloved.

in antiquity’s chill.

Roses glow

like blood-drops sprung out of the earth.

Their thorns outstretched

rebuking hands

leave a silent pin-prick

against my flesh,

telling me

my love lies here not

not within this dark place.

Once more clarion,

I hear the haunting psalm

its shadowy linger

resounding the fretful antiphon

of bygone years lost:

Veni, veni, venias

ne me mori facias.

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Dawn-light from on high breaks. In its lofty dome, first-creation stretches hands over a sea of cloudy blue. From that place, I first knew you, chosen and despised, scapegoat for their sins. Yet, I uttered no thing when they drove three nails through your royal garb and said,

“For this you’ll die.”

I watched them gather stones to slay you for the crime of blasphemy but seeking liberty from the lordly, barbed word, I acted not. Complacency became my shelter while you suffered and prayed for the suffering, praying world.

I was not like you…

I preached and brought love in my own way and needed no other. I was young, a whole life to live, and you were old, your life given away. How I cherished myself when no one cherished you!

From dust rising, brushing off the phoenix’s feathers, I at last spoke,

“He does no wrong, leave.” But surely, you were more wrong and corrupt than the rest of us? Surely, you polished iniquities into gold, wore them on your finger?

Silent, I stood…

Between that world and the abyss, saw heaven; that shining tower built from ivory stone, whitewashed alabaster. Warding the gates was the most beautiful, purest creature, the Shepherd of souls, Christ the Lord. He said:

“Look, behold my manservant!”

You again. I pleaded to enter in, but from your hands clutched, dangled the keys. Slandered, tormented and mocked, you blessed the great emptiness. My wrath could not overcome earth and your honor, missed it. I begged a martyr to open heaven and he thanked me for letting him die.