Written: May 2nd 2026, for contest sponsored by Brian Strand
********************
I could trace you
through the tremor of your hesitations,
read the rippled residues of moments
that tried to make you smaller.
I could catalogue the crenellations
carved by old ache,
the tensile tenderness you carry
like a secret you never meant to keep.
But beauty is not a ledger—
It is a lucent lilt,
a soft antiphon rising
even when you feel moribund inside.
It is the way your presence
festoons a room with quiet gravity,
how your stillness holds
a vernal vow of becoming.
And though I can do nothing
about the ache that shadows you,
I can witness you—
unabated, unwavering—
and be undone
by the simple, staggering truth
that your beauty
does not ask to be seen
but still
shines.
song
in plain
antiphon-
doxology
verse &versicle
in rhyming roundelay-
sung to greet their wedding day
an epithalamium
a prosaic prothalamion
a prosaic prothalamion
with a epithalamium
sung to greet their wedding day
in rhyming roundelay-
verse and versicle
doxology
antiphon-
in plain
song
a prosaic prothalamion
with a epithalamium
sung to greet their wedding day
in rhyming roundelay-
verse and versicle
doxology
antiphon-
in plain
song
Each day remember not,forgive my sin
My Lord,within
In worship as I praise
to You my hands I raise;
and know you as You are,
close up,not from afar
Each day remember not,forgive my sin
My Lord,within
Help me to stop and wait
for guidance,to relate
when on my knees ,I pray
hear better,what You say
Each day remember not,forgive my sin
My Lord,within
a prosaic prothalamion
with a epithalamium
sung to greet their wedding day
in rhyming roundelay-
verse and versicle
doxology
antiphon-
in plain
song
Each day remember not,forgive my sin
My Lord,within
In worship as I praise
to You my hands I raise;
and know you as You are,
close up,not from afar
Each day remember not,forgive my sin
My Lord,within
Help me to stop and wait
for guidance,to relate
when on my knees ,I pray
hear better,what You say
Each day remember not,forgive my sin
My Lord,within
Inspired by George Herbert's poem of the Antiphon form and title
MY BEAUTIFUL GIRLS
Zinnia,I remember you,each day
Don't ever despair,my Petunia
Or give up,precious Lily.
Never forget,my Carnation
I'm thinking of you,my Pansy
You have my devotion,Honeysuckle.
My heartfelt love always,Myrtle
With sincere regards my Daffodils-
Forever...my floral friends.
or perhaps
a prosaic prothalamion
with a epithalamium
sung to greet their wedding day
in rhyming roundelay-
verse and versicle
doxology
antiphon-
in plain
song
Throughout the ages an aching sigh,
dispersed by waves on rabid seas which only splutter,
swept up by gusts that mask a cry which disappears
across the nettle voids,
this raw dispatch of fatal wound backlog,
atonal antiphon amok,
a caution light epistle
back in time to be quenched by secret language never heard.
a prosaic prothalamion
with a epithalamium
sung to greet their wedding day
in rhyming roundelay-
verse and versicle
doxology
antiphon-
in plain
song
Each day remember not,forgive my sin
My Lord,within
In worship as I praise
to You my hands I raise;
and know you as You are,
close up,not from afar
Each day remember not,forgive my sin
My Lord,within
Help me to stop and wait
for guidance,to relate
when on my knees ,I pray
hear better,what You say
Each day remember not,forgive my sin
My Lord,within
Inspired by George Herbert's poem of the Antiphon form and title.
How brittle is the vessel of my boundless dreams
When briny waves crash longingly upon the shore
Of wisdom drenched in lust for peace! It seems
As though its hull has been consumed or pierced in war.
The sun is faint. The stars have died away and must
Have slowly slipped into the caving pit of space,
Whence certainty of will cannot escape the rust
On swords unfit to win a long and futile race.
The herded thoughts of ill and brutish minds are high
Upon the firmament where sanguine words should dwell,
And never can dry truth beset and burn the lie
Encased in gold on heavy monuments from hell.
Where staleness dwells, so does the antiphon of sand,
Outspread in layers, thick upon the ocean floor,
Unbending in its ruthless rage, resolved to strand—
Upon the rim of night—the fated ship of lore.
At last, what little love remains must ebb and face
The unsuspended void enveloping faint hope,
And then succumb to the pale ghost who wields the mace,
Or even hang by a most sturdy silken rope.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
They call it shuffling of the mind
when other eyes are turned;
Other visions call upon the history
that is their very own, allowing us
to see, to share, to grow.
Onrushing Earth
will ride the tides of time
disclosing newer cries of childhood;
hearts will sing again their Kyries
while brotherhood is unrelenting,
we may join the new-made antiphon
where every song is triumph;
each surrender is a victory.
There is risk in such a stand.
There is plenitude among the powers
of the strong, righteous in their zeal.
There is challenge. There is testing.
There is no defense.
Mayhap, there need not be.
~
Horizon is illusory.
White sails appear across the morning watch,
are lost at noon,
and sighted once again at vespers
when the antiphon is sung.
Beneath them at the rail
another sailor over there
may share the vision,
half of fantasy that I exist
and half in brotherhood of faith
in mythic splendor of mirage.
and there am I
when sails and sky
reflect the blooded sun
as I linger on the deck, yet blest,
my restive fingers touch
the talisman around my neck
while he in supplication to a headless God
beneath the little guillotine
suspended on his chest,
would be content to marvel
that a lordly mendicant like mine
could stretch his body on a yoke of wood
and die like that.
~
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