In the juvescence of the year Came Christ the tiger (T.S. Eliot, “Gerontion”) Still He bursts into our courts Where our Pharisee-hearts change coins for doves And the tables we man to show who’s in charge Are upturned by His rage. Still HeContinue reading “Parousia”
Category Archives: Poetry
Hope
Impossibly darting amidst the cars, an aquamarine balloon dances on Cemetery Road, Continue reading “Hope”
George Herbert – The Broken Altar
As April comes to an end, my time spent with the poetry of George Herbert also comes to its conclusion. Here is the essay that I have written, reflecting on Herbert’s work and his influence on me. I hope you enjoy reading it. The Broken Altar
Quatrain (V)
And so it seems to me that I Might rest now underneath Your sky, Sunset like redeeming blood, The rainbow-aftermath of flood.
He that made the ear (After George Herbert’s “Longing”)
My last George Herbert-inspired poem is a bit different to the other three. This time I have decided to use just two lines from his poem, “Longing”, as the stimulus for my own poem: Lord heare! Shall he that made the ear Continue reading “He that made the ear (After George Herbert’s “Longing”)”
Quatrain (IV)
More generous than all my dreams could make You, You overflow when I am most dry. When my heart proves me false, You prove most true, My failure the question, Your love the reply.
Quatrain (III)
Without ground beneath feet I am stumbling, Without bearings I’m caught out of place. But to You in this vacuum and rumbling I can turn, for You shape the dark space.
Obsession (After George Herbert’s “Affliction (IV)”)
The fact that George Herbert wrote a number of poems of called “Affliction” tells us something about the nature of his life and the hardships, many of them internal, that he endured. Today’s poem is based on his fourth “Affliction” poem, a poem that resonates strongly with me despite the four hundred years that haveContinue reading “Obsession (After George Herbert’s “Affliction (IV)”)”
Quatrain (II)
I fell at your feet with the burden I carried Dragging my shoulders and soul to the ground. “The burden is mine, child,” you said while I tarried, Unable to rise and afraid to lay down.
Quatrain
From a day of wandering and buzzing, My thoughts tangled up in their thrall, With vines of coiled hopes faintly budding – Dear God, straighten me; be my all.
The Consolations of Writing 