Maker's Face Fair

Fields are ablaze with green grazing blades,

With flowers floating on land-sea's surface;

Whilst swarms of sheep frolic and feast on waves,

Each and all contenting Creator by fulfilling purpose.

Meanwhile squeezed cloud-clusters do drip wine,

Forming pools in pores of meek Mother Earth;

Whose lofty leaking hills nourish babes nine,

S'that as dancing drunkards, delight She who gave them birth.

All the while scarlet valley with voice sublime does sing:

"O Maker, my Maker, come create my face fair."

To which laudatious light'nings of kissing King

Swiftly and sweetly reply, as stroking Queen's stawb'ry hair.

23/02/2015

Exile’s Ode

An exile in the desert of this world, the soul ponders her state in heartfelt prayer to her God; recognising through faith that even now in this sandy wasteland, she dwells in and tastes the Promised Land of her desire.

 

Withdrawn from mother’s breast;

Forsaken father’s house.

Left nets by the shore;

Untouched spoils of war.

Onward bound through desert;

Feet as ploughs keep ploughing.

Can’t see ash and sack;

No time to look back.

Cloud by day leads me on;

Flame-pillar whispers way.

Strings of harp sing praise;

Thirst grows with the days.

Egypt’s onion’s echo;

Moist mem’ry of Nile taunts.

Jackals at night laugh;

Thy Will is my staff.

Tears are my daily bread;

My daily drink as well.

Flocks seem to vanish;

On tab'e there's meat dish.

In shade I’d like to sleep;

Forty-years am awake.

Breasts of Promised Land;

Dwelling unlike sand.

Net to haul doth remain;

Trophies won to be shared.

Manna’s my honey;

Seas my milk runny.

 20/02/2015