Dust motes dancing through glancing light,
refracted through stained glass windows, bright.
The smell of old pine and communion wine lingers,
wax polish and roses from grieving widows fingers.
A faint smell of incense, intense in it's nuance,
old hymn books weave their soporific fluence.
The imposing lectern, Gothic and glowering,
the Nave and Transepts, jaw dropping, towering.
The silence echoes in reverent tones,
so as not to disturb the pious bones
interred in alcoves and beneath stones
inscribed with the names of the chosen ones.
Hassock and cassock, pew, aisle and choir,
childish imaginings of brimstone and fire.
Quiet reflections in an old country church
then out to dappled sunlight through Yew, Oak and Birch.
BEWICK
unhampered
unclouded
clear precise
memoirs of the mind
hollowed out of time
in domains dissected
yellow harvests
fading foliage
leaves birds&trees
depicted
with an unusual eye
a spontaneous overflow
of feelings
exposed
the rarest
of qualities
exquisitely
executed&
engraved
BLAKE
without fluence
in infinite patience
vital& neccessary
bursting with life
yet
tender&
exhuberant
marginalia
footnotes&epigrams
imitations worthy of notice
subjective
particular
in mood & nature
a miasma
intent on definition
in visions of dells knooks & corners
of paradise
in
a pitch of poetic intensity
vivid brilliancy
mist dreaming glimmers
upon
gaudy daylight
Each spring, the source of every brook or stream
Rises from the land which has perforce been fed
By rain that falls on earth the which would seem
To return that gift, become a fountainhead
And issue in a rich and vital flow
That feeds all life to flourish and to grow
With this metaphor I seek to realise
The interaction of a friendship that I prize
Taken from poem: The Fluence of Friendship
28 April 2019
Contest: Rithimus Divisa Poetry
The FLUENCE of FRIENDSHIP
Each spring, the source of every brook or stream
Rises from the land which has perforce been fed
By rain that falls on earth the which would seem
To return that gift, become a fountainhead
And issue in a rich and vital flow
That feeds all life to flourish and to grow
With this metaphor I seek to realise
The interaction of a friendship that I prize
The one whose words as gentle rain sustain
The spirit or the muse with which I weave
The language that might then have dormant lain
And who granted me the being I conceive
A butterfly flutters
In harmonious motion
In hush tones
It whispers
Yarning the secret
In mellow lures
With glistering gestures
A tinge of speckles
A lasting fluence
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