To go along with my post, “Hooray For 2012”, here are a couple of EOW poems I’ve written. Don’t ask me what they mean — they is what they is, and “I yam what I yam.” [1Cor 15.10; my “Popeye” affirmation]
After the Bombing
St. Paul’s, London; 12 September 1940 (WWII)
Shards of beauty (stained glass divinity) lay in fallen heap — glassy.
Shrouding heavily these huddled fearful worshipers — crushed.
Burying deeply, vaguely concerned proselytes, the Bomb
Which buried these bodies wiped all tears from their
Salt-streaked eyes and brought them peace.
A shuffled step is heard — this shocked
Survivor finds he’s Late for the
That Piano Thunder Roll
That voice didn’t really roll in thunder
From the east, and assuredly there were
Not words in that storm bred tempo that rose
Shouting, from the very roots of the world.
Though all creation paused — listening to the
Wind, Bearing that muted voice which rolled beyond
The threat’ning eastern clouds, preceding storm
Torn earth and sea; though all life halted, ears
Deafened by that storm clap, yet assuredly
There were not words in that aweful thunder
That smote beneath the ears, around the ears.
Assuredly that rooted thunder which
O’retook Westering man and turned his ears
To dust, spoke not words which woke his deafened
Heart to hear that Voice — that piano thunder roll.