In lieu of trying to belong to any number of societies: Chesterton, Sherlock Holmes, the Inklings, and so on: I propose and establish one of my own. Don your intelligence cap at the door; dust off your logic and imagination; did you bring your inspiration and encouragement? We are shapers, my friends; lit lamps; light-bringers. Bring quotes*; poetry should be uplifting and thoughtful, or witty and clever, (or both). Humor is encouraged; laughter is invited back. Pull up a chair. Anyone for tea?



of me

A limerick, a rhyme, a song
Pervades the light and merry throng
Of crimson rambling vines and leaves
A turquoise heaven through the trees
I can't but wonder if this strain
Of music woven in the wane
That haunts my heart in every year
To pen a single, yes a mere
Beginning or a passing note
Began when God Creation wrote
And wrote this too, this anthem long
Whose melody is here and strong

I must record the beauty frail
This golden and secluded vale
In season's play of history
This section full of mystery
But even so despite each page
Of my attempts in every age
To transfer sonnets into words
Or paint a rhyme of sky and birds
A single measure only comes
Of nature's song that always hums
The praise of God and ever wends
Beyond when lofty summer ends

And so I write of skies bright blue
Chrysanthemums adorned with dew
Of barren branches bathed in gold
And dells astir with leaves of old
I'll make a wreath of forest vine
And gather rose-hips to entwine
I'll set its band atop my hair
Inhaling draughts of crystal air
I'll call farewell to southbound geese
Go dashing through the leaves in peace
And ever with the seasons sing
"All glory be to Christ our king!"
autumn 2010, age 16

1 comment:

Kat said...

Lovely, lovely. Just like you.