Long Cloisters Poems
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She is a beauty with her vaulted ceilings and cloisters.
Has been parading about for over a thousand years
Showing off her English gothic architecture.
Cathedral Church of St. Peter and the Holy and Invisible Trinity.
We have seen her in films and movies – The Hollow Crown,
Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Harry Potter.
She houses at Gloucester, Gloucestershire, UK.
She was once a pilgrimage for Christian seekers.
King Henry the Eighth established her current choir in 1539.
Today her choir boasts thirty-eight choristers and twelve adult singers.
So when you walk through, you are a historian, so much has gone on.
She is magnificent with her beautiful stained glass windows.
Her organ was constructed in sixteen hundred and sixty-six.
She has been the site of graduations, coronations, and weddings.
In medieval times she held daily worship sung by monks of the abbey.
Gloucester Cathedral, a gorgeous example of what architects can do.
Among tall weeds are waving tulips, with satin pearls of dew
Blowing trumpets, and brushing grasses, with shades of cheerful tunes
Creating carpets soft and fair, where every eye can rest,
Dancing petals kiss the breezes, in flirting dalliance
Each breath of wind, caresses strands, of lupine, blending in
Foxglove, flax, and buckwheat stand, so slender on their stems
Green buds, fragile, on the limbs, of trees in cloisters, high
Have opened bliss upon the ridge, while clouds are passing by
Ivy tendrils wrap the oaks, which grow exempt from time
Just as God would wrap a heart with joy at Easter time
Keeping watch, a hawk swoops down, to scout a meadow's floor
Looming high, it circles 'round, in time for afternoon
Morning 's sun has long been gone,, and left a touch of warm
Night had left a trail of showers, from the passing storm
Opened flowers, bask in sunlight, breaking through the cold
Pastel colors, and fragrant blossoms, paint the world in gold
Question not the splendid wonder, it's ours now to explore
Rejoice with eyes, behold and conquer, spring is at our door
Saturate the heart with "happy", as the day unfolds
To stand, alone, and hear the songs, birds and bees have told
Underneath the cloak of springtime, is all that we could ask
Voices call within the wind, and meadow larks will ask
Will we take this world for granted, or leave it to the rest?
Xanadu is ours to own, nature at it's best
You came, you saw, a sign of spring.......and
Zenith, is its name
___________________________________________
For The Abecedarian Contest: "Spring"
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
2/20/15
EARTH CHANTS
I dream and stare out my window,
windblown leaves, scars and troubles
blow like fluff from dandelions, settling
inside my shadow....hung upon my
memory-wall, reflecting moon dust
far from Heaven, out upon this shapeless
poem, buried deep within my soul...
Songs, the minstrels trusted from before,
can only be heard at low tide, as crabs
scurry atop their barren bones.... sea shells
speak of my future, If I listen quietly, but,
there is no sound, only echoes from the earth....
Cloisters of Monks chant to processions of ants
as centuries dim, captured in sorrows, even as
the tall grasses sway in song, remembering the
journey through the endless mist, of the river
that never ends...
Sightless snakes snap their warnings to heaping
piles of gold the minions of mayhem mock in
worship, ignoring the chasm greed creates...
Soon, the stinging nettle will understand the
painless path, and I will boil their roots, and
feed them to the venomous snakes, then
burn the bridge that leads to torment...
I can still hear the chants of the Elders,
calmly nurturing the coming season of change,
content once more, as stars smile upon
our future, and seeds, sown before our time,
bear fruit as told by our chosen ones....
Chants forever heard....
chants
forever
heard
I can almost hear the
haunting monastic chants
and solemn songs, lost
between the rippling currents
of the Hudson River.
The Cloisters stand, silent
upon a nearby hill
stone walls and ancient towers
are stoic and timeless
carrying secrets of the past
covering forgotten sins.
Echos of voices, Ave Maria and rosaries
the fervent signs of the cross
commune amongst sacred writings
silent prayers and penitent pleas.
The tower bells clang loudly
ringing in the hours
as time slips over the horizon
and well cared for gardens.
I linger within these hallowed halls
aching to listen to those voices
from long ago
disciplined, dedicated, devoted men
who knelt to worship
God Most High, Eternal.
Love comes in all
shapes and sizes – Thank God!
Myself having evolved in some
rather, undesirable directions...
But what is the same anymore?
Environmentalists say, not the sky!
Not the seas! (Seagulls flying off
with bees to who knows where?)
As those wide-open spaces – gone!
Concrete and steel having replaced
colorfully tinted rural faces, with grimacing
gray features – tenements rabid with crime
and moral filth...desperately in need
of far more heavenly graces – or, at the least,
the lofty illusions pearl-necklaced TV Moms
once gave us.
Libraries, the sacred cloisters of
of enchanted places and mystical dreams,
no longer bearing, at the least
informative fruits for deliberative
minds; such institutions polluted
with Liberal Politics, personal greed
coupled with insane hunger for
for power over more docile others,
a hollowing of the human soul
leaving a bitter emptiness
and disconnect where once
thrived the fertile seeds of cooperative
living...
So, what is the new normal?
Hell if I know! Politicians
speaking out of both sides of
elongated, medically enhanced
lying mouths – technically new?
Educators enunciating with their
backsides – but now their pant’s fully down,
Punctuating a Marxist agenda, their
transforming goals openly on display --
perhaps for them, a new honesty?
College students confused as to which
way to turn in bed – enough to confound
the most flexible contortionist….
Thank God for alcohol!
They all come, and turn,
The apostatic hundreds from the wilderness,
Hungry as the lamprey, open-mouthed,
Impatient as an itch,
And virtuous as the grave.
Those that wait remain unsatisfied,
Barren children of a barren race,
Yet hopeful ever.
Severed from their mother womb
And ushered into manliness,
The fortunates groan and hate the light
And curse the hand that feeds them.
Out of the night they come, the suburbs' nuns,
Come to the cloisters and the cellars
And in the candlelight take off the veil,
Throw inhibitions to the wind
And chastity to fools,
As far behind, an echo of the past,
A childhood godhead is dismayed.
Infinite pitch black void zoomed,
I vacillated then pitched headlong
(head and knobby knees, over heels)
where skeletons in shuttered closets roomed,
and antithesis of freedom loomed
large (think) cosmic size grand canyon groomed
courtesy the once mighty Mississippi,
now barely a babbling brook in places
espouses, and cloisters unbridled wedded bliss
till after honeymoon, than couple fumed
one accusing the other of infidelity
absolute zero witnessed crime of passion
lifeless bodies in shallow grave entombed
after violent retribution forensic experts
determine homicide after lovely bones exhumed
shotgun marriage from getgo doomed
structured sound of silence boomed.
Against the wishes of slumbering wife,
the following I nonetheless narrated,
to you how she temporarily held
yours truly check (mated),
thus eternal salvation sought
at healing waters of Lake Woebegone
repurposed conscious being
to experience sanguine mood linkedin
attending high school reunion
ridding hypocrisy, modesty,
and travesty initially I hibernated
away from madding crowd
once for all ascending
soul asylum gilded gated
stairway to heaven
consanguinity amidst deceased brethren
impossible mission to discern,
dawdling against inevitable fated
doom, thus I nevertheless equivocated
and bemoaned series of unfortunate events.
Daniel Handler an American writer and musician
best known for his children's series
A Series of Unfortunate Events
and All the Wrong Questions
Lemony Snicket honestly created
salvation blissfully, knowingly belated
and thankfully ameliorated.
At long last doomed existence
finally fancy free and footloose
Earthly afflictions divine creator
severe trials and tribulations let loose
promise body, mind and spirit triage
damn physical, mental, and
spiritual afflictions permanent vamoose
yoked Sisyphean and mephistophelean woe
summoning herculean strength
(mine) to vanquish
courtesy (halloo) gibbet welcome noose
necks stop outer limits analogous cooked goose.
“The sounds of Earth is the music of my soul”
I remember the valley rolled with thunder
A section of tenors echoed from above
The sky was shredded, by forked lightning
Somehow that moment transcended love
Static electric rose up through the cloisters
The organist played like a demon inspired
Rooftop gargoyles overflowed with water
And eyes welled up, as if nature conspired
Rivers were swollen, the lake was heavy
A boy soprano, almost pierced the dome
Landslides rumbled away in the distance
High on ambivalence, I thought about Rome
The conductor was whipped into a frenzy
Fitfully pointing his wand in the air
As the tempest outside reached crescendo
Defiant altos, sang a hymnal prayer
Beyond the west window, storms fell silent
Shafts of light, shone through from space
Together the choir reached out in emotion
As they swayed stoically, to Amazing Grace
Originally penned 08/10/22
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 14 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
09/13/22
"Mythical creatures arise in a labyrinth flight round a cloisters,
a crown of flowers and berries they wear in fairyland." Quote by Poet
Stars shiver in the laden cold with the moon's sight.
Autumn's chill sigh emotion thrown across the night.
The elves, faeries, centaurs, and minotaur physicality
in merry enchanting dance in the inner labyrinth
among the comfort the open courtyard invisibility.
Untold mythical young too; no mundane eyes could see.
Winged Faeries spin~dance holding an olive branch.
Dragons menacing roar with crackling fire of thunder
weaving between the clouds to catch the air above;
under a blanket sky, whirling in shadows of purple.
Magical serpentine fierce in all their mystic wonder,
incandesce scales in brilliant metallic shine livery,
to its subtle benevolence manner, bold chivalry.
3/17/2023
Writing Challenge - 'M' Words - Poetry Contest 7. mythical
Sponsored by: Constance La France
hidden intentions
forseen from afar
set in the dark
tracks in the stone
to posterity through cloisters
with empty streams
a desert
of aged rivers
folds of nothingness
now run cold
treasures like rain
in abundance
lies
unnoticed
customs rites inscribed
without counsel
an eternal mandate
to interpret
given honour
crowned by command
by order
from on high
among us
the genteel
giving way
wise to please
acquainted with justice
models in reason
upon their own course:
practised analysis carried out
answers
to this current age:
precarious colleagues
in everything else
so doing
growing in reserve
wisdom mistaken at large
original
sincere
an analogy repeated
appears suspended
derived with censured
motives uncombed
wholly simulated
yet
capable of lasting enquiry
liberty prohibited without a whisper
rebellion in ignorance
opens the door of history
to the impossible
authentic conscience
a theory so many mark
but
do not listen
yet
at the end of it
can only
weep
year later
an obstacle remembered
now destroyed
in affections furrow
a doorway to the cross:
a suitable place
the winged cloud
talked of in conversation
thought to be cast down
yet
an indesructible word
now
still in flower
in the half-light of beauty
bringing light
vineyards of branches
gild the moment
highlights on a scale of importance
bringing equity
from heaven:
declaimed scripture
matter to contend
&advance the picture
with courage
an example for the next time