Incandescence

 

 
Poem on the first Feast of Pentecost



They don't know what comes next.
They are trembling,
assembled together for comfort,
confused, bereft, vulnerable,
exposed to hostile forces,
on the edge of unbeing.
They've nothing to bless themselves with
and their manifesto looks dumb
without a party leader.
Where are they to go from here?
 

It was safe in his company,
despite the witchhunt.
The suffering had a purpose.
They trusted what he was about,
dimly grasping that the 'whited sepulchre'
must be blasted to shards.
To Regain Paradise by dint of law
and the redistribution of wealth
was both illusion and travesty
that cost blood anyway.
 

He had come to weigh himself
in the balance,
the fulcrum of those scales
unhinged by Adam for all time,
without some Mighty Advocate
intervene with a case
of special pleading and turn the tables
on the wealth-and-muscle hungry,
those with intellectual pretensions
and stiff-necked arrogance.
 

But why abandon his own,
just when the tide seems
to be turning? The corporate
wounds, defiantly repairing, are now
incorporeal. His mother, the chamber
of his incarnation, the only shrine
and single point of focus, holding it
all together: they could scavenge
with their eyes of dust until eternity,
the vision fumed with nostalgia.
 

But hark! This rushing wind fans
embers into conflagration.
He's here! In cloistered space!
Mary's haloed head peers heavenward
and hands are linked in concord.
Atomic Courage! Immortal Inspiration!
Babel rased to debris! Love reigns!
No power on earth can quench
Shekhinah's fire! Go, tell the world
and dare to live as if...
 


From JERICHO ROSE, Songs from the Wilderness (poetry collection in preparation).

 

Comments

 
No comments made yet. Be the first to submit a comment
Already Registered? Login Here
Guest
Sunday, 23 July 2017

Captcha Image

Latest Comments

Ken Hartke In Praise of Old Hotels – Taos and Leadville
21 July 2017
The road is always calling... I'm debating with myself about driving up into Wyoming for the solar e...
Stephen Evans In Praise of Old Hotels – Taos and Leadville
20 July 2017
I so enjoy these - they make me want to hit the road!
Ken Hartke In Praise of Old Hotels – Taos and Leadville
20 July 2017
I'm glad you liked it. I enjoy visiting these authentic old places and appreciate the effort to kee...
Katherine Gregor In Praise of Old Hotels – Taos and Leadville
20 July 2017
I so enjoy your descriptions of various hotels! Each has its distinctive personality. I have fond m...
Stephen Evans The Poem I would have Writ
14 July 2017
Maybe it is an excuse though I tend to read is more as frustration with the choice between being in...

Latest Blogs

It has been a while since I shared an old hotel dispatch from the road.   Here in the high desert of New Mexico, June is our hottest month and the onl...
"What is truth? said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer. Certainly there be, that delight in giddiness, and count it a bondage to fix a ...
"My life has been the poem I would have writ,  But I could not both live and utter it." Henry David Thoreau Born July 12, 1817 ...
I am priveleged to occasionally witness these little domestic dramas as they play out in my backyard. This is my local Scaled Quail family.  Body lang...
Some people have studies.  Others dens.  Or offices.  I have a Scriptorium. In our previous home, H. worked in the spare room, and I at the dining ...