“Merlin Before Guinevere”

My heart is heavy at our parting,
For my guidance will certainly fail.
The song I have sung is now ending
And the light of Pendragon is pale.
The Pendragon falls—who now shall arise?—
And anarchy dims the light of the City.

O daughter of princes, hear now the Word:
“To obey is better than sacrifice.”
When will you listen and truly be free?
Your conduct has darkened your star ere its rising,
And your orderly empire is fallen before it began.
But I must leave you now, for I have stayed too long,
And my own kingdom must fall for a time.

The conversation in the comments on another recent poem made me think of this one. It’s probably about the latest poem in the series in internal chronology, but fairly early by date of composition. I significantly reorganized and revised it when I did my overhaul of the whole series a few years ago, and then further revised it earlier this week in preparation for posting today.

As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions, questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you liked this poem, or you didn’t like it, or it made you think of something, or … please leave a comment to let me know.) If you liked this, you can follow this blog (click the button at the top of the right-hand column if you’re reading this on the blog), which includes one of my poems every Friday, or read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (starting with yesterday’s archive installment, since the full archive is by now, at well over a hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know which poems you think are my best. You may also share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.

This poem is also mirrored as a Google Doc and on WEbook.

“Upon that head”: An Ascensiontide poem

Upon the head that once a virgin laid,
All swaddled, in a manger’s straw-filled bed
Now rest all heaven’s glories and its crown;
Te man who on a barren mountain sat
To teach the crowds the truth they would not heed
Now sits at God’s right hand, and on his throne,
Until all foes, subdued, have bent the knee.
Upon his brow, once scourged by mocking thorns,
Now meet “all wreaths of empire”; in his hands,
Which on the tree stretched wide in selfless love,
He bears the iron rod of rightful rule—
A justice, equity, the peoples fear.
But see, those nail-pierced feet, which ran with blood
When he for us, and in our place endured,
Now stand for our defense before the throne—
No better advocate could any hope to have!
For he who on the cross was lifted up
For our salvation, then to hell went low
And in three days arose to life anew,
Was lifted up again—that when he comes,
And all his people rise to welcome him,
The earth “may see, and fear,” and stand in awe.

I wrote this poem—in bits and pieces, fits and starts—over the last couple of weeks so that I could post something suitable for the day after the anniversary of the Christ’s ascension into heaven. I drew heavily from various hymns, some seasonal and some not, and creeds for inspiration and for wording, and decided to consider as a source of connections each stage of his earthly life in order.

As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions, questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you liked this poem, or you didn’t like it, or it made you think of something, or … please leave a comment to let me know.) If you liked this, you can follow this blog (click the button at the top of the right-hand column if you’re reading this on the blog), which includes one of my poems every Friday, or read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (starting with yesterday’s archive installment, since the full archive is by now, at well over a hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know which poems you think are my best. You may also share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.

This poem is also archived on WEbook and as a Google Doc.

“Taliesin in the Rose Garden”

My lady the queen, let nothing disturb you.
Your fate is as great as his,
Your destiny as high, and these troubles
Merely the pricking of rose thorns.
Beauty is not an easy path.

I look down upon the citadel of Camelot
From my place in the garden with Guinevere.
The wall is not in place, the people not in homes.
I see the knights’ banners on the breeze:
The dragon of Arthur the king, first and largest;
A fish for Percival the fair, swimming in the sky;
A golden lion for Lancelot the paragon of honor,
A swan for Bors the loving, and by some trick
A cross for the knight of Merlin’s Seat.
These I see above the unlaid foundations
And the half-high defenses of the city of Camelot
As I walk with the queen among the flowers.

My lady, I have seen another great destiny:
Not yours, but another as great.
One shall come, through a misguided devotion to you,
Who alone shall be worthy of the highest quest.

This is one of the earlier poems in my series set in the Arthuriad, both in when I wrote the first version of it (as I can tell from the structure—distinct sections alternating between narration and monologue were the most common structure in the series early on) and by internal chronology. I made some slight but thorough revisions when I overhauled the series several years ago, and then cleaned it up further before posting it today.

I always welcome your comments, critique, suggestions, or any other feedback on this poem or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you like it, if you don’t like it, if something “works”, if something “doesn’t work”, if it makes you think of something or someone, etc., please comment and say so!) If you like this, you can follow this blog (click the button at the top of the right-hand column if you’re reading this on the blog), which includes one of my poems every Friday; you can also read other poems I’ve written here on this blog (or if that list is too intimidating, I’m posting more manageable subsets each week, such as yesterday’s installment, so you can just start with those). I’d particularly like to know which poems you think are my best.

This poem is also mirrored as a Google Doc and on WEbook. If you like it, you are also encouraged to share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.

“Lawn”

How often I’ve made haste across that lawn—
Or sat upon it, working in the sun—
Or loitered with such friends in conversation
There that I could while all day away,
So pleasant, joyful was their company.
But I have never danced upon that lawn;
In all the gladsome hours that I have passed
Upon that verdant, gently rising hill,
Not one was spent, under the pleasant sky,
With happy music and the steps of old.

I wrote this poem this week, beginning when I was outside working on our lawn. I was thinking of the Commons Lawn at my alma mater (which also partly inspired my Untitled Metaphor #6), and also of the “Dancing Lawn” in Prince Caspian, which prompted the poem—though none of that is essential to its meaning.

As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions, questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you liked this poem, or you didn’t like it, or it made you think of something, or … please leave a comment to let me know.) If you liked this, you can follow this blog (click the button at the top of the right-hand column if you’re reading this on the blog), which includes one of my poems every Friday, or read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (starting with yesterday’s archive installment, since the full archive is by now, at well over a hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know which poems you think are my best.

This poem is also archived on WEbook and as a Google Doc. If you like it, you are encouraged to share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.

Related articles

• “Spring” (shinecycle.wordpress.com)
• Poetry Archive: Volume III Issue 4 (shinecycle.wordpress.com)
• “Falling Fire” (shinecycle.wordpress.com)

“Spring”

The spring has come at last! I see the sun;
I feel its warmth, despite the morning’s chill.
I hear the whisper of a passing breeze,
And smell the scent of flowers on the wind.
Bold, bright blossoms fill the trees with color;
Petals fall, but all on earth is shouting,
“God is glorious! Rejoice! Rejoice!”

I composed this a couple of weeks ago as I was either working or walking somewhere outside, as a description of what I was seeing and feeling now that the spring has come.

I always welcome your comments, critique, suggestions, or any other feedback on this poem or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you like it, if you don’t like it, if something “works”, if something “doesn’t work”, if it makes you think of something or someone, etc., please comment and say so!) If you like this, you can follow this blog (click the button at the top of the right-hand column if you’re reading this on the blog), which includes one of my poems every Friday; you can also read other poems I’ve written here on this blog (or if that list is too intimidating, I’m posting more manageable subsets each week, such as yesterday’s installment, so you can just start with those). I’d particularly like to know which poems you think are my best.

This poem is also mirrored as a Google Doc and on WEbook. If you like it, you are also encouraged to share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.

“Taliesin Before the Portrait Painter”

The pattern of the world is drawn
In stark lines, bold curves, deliberate points,
Placed with decision by an omniscient Designer.
The softer strokes in the sweep of Time
Show the love of the Infinite One.

My oath of fealty made to Guinevere—
Easily spoken, not easily kept—
Is a single small section of color,
But it casts light over the whole painting.

This is probably an early poem in my series set in the Arthuriad, at least in terms of when it was written, but perhaps in internal chronology too. I cleaned it up slightly while preparing to post it for today, but chose to leave the substance the same even though I know it would be very different were I writing it anew now.

As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions, questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you liked this poem, or you didn’t like it, or it made you think of something, or … please leave a comment to let me know.) If you liked this, you can also read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (starting with yesterday’s archive installment, since the full archive is by now, at well over a hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know which poems you think are my best.

This poem is also archived on WEbook and as a Google Doc. If you like it, you are encouraged to share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.

Related articles

• “Taliesin on the Occasion of his Knighthood” (shinecycle.wordpress.com)

“Breaking Day”

The morning breaks, and women come with spices,
Still in despair, to find their grief misplaced—
For he who once, though Lord of life, was dead
Has risen now, triumphant over death.

The morning breaks, and angels here descend,
All festively arrayed with borrowed glory,
To greet the mourners from an empty tomb
And be the first to tell the joyful news.

The morning breaks, and still the Victor waits
Here in the garden, just beyond the stone,
To bring joy to one mourner ere he goes
To lay his trophies at his Father’s feet.

The morning breaks; our praises now arise,
For we, as well, have passed from death to life
Because his power and life now work in us
That we may live, and death in us may die.

I wrote this over this past week, thinking about the various characters in the account we have received of that first Easter morning. Most of the stanzas more or less seemed to “write themselves,” and seemed to need my effort only to keep them from overflowing the somewhat restrictive structure I chose.

I always welcome your comments, critique, suggestions, or any other feedback on this poem or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you like it, if you don’t like it, if something “works”, if something “doesn’t work”, if it makes you think of something or someone, etc., please comment and say so!) If you like this, you can follow this blog, which includes one of my poems every Friday; you can also read other poems I’ve written here on this blog (or if that list is too intimidating, I’m posting more manageable subsets each week, such as yesterday’s installment, so you can just start with those). I’d particularly like to know which poems you think are my best.

This poem is also mirrored as a Google Doc and on WEbook. If you like it, you are also encouraged to share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.

“Friday”

We who now stand here, in the light, and watch
Can see the blackness of that day of wrath—
Of “darkness, gloom, and storm” akin to Sinai’s fire—
And not despair, for we have heard the rest.
But from the bleakness of that evil day,
Or in a darkened mind’s futility,
How foolish it would seem to talk of victory!

Yet how God’s glory triumphs even here!
For even though he promised long ago
All that has taken place, “who has believed”?
From the beginning nothing was concealed,
But not until his triumph was complete
(And he himself—alive—had shown it plain)
Did any angel, man, or lesser thing
Begin to understand the Master’s plan.

I wrote this last week for today’s occasion. As in last year’s poem at this time, I tried to bring together ideas from various parts of Scripture, but as with that poem it seemed to largely “write itself.”

As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions, questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you liked this poem, or you didn’t like it, or it made you think of something, or … please leave a comment to let me know.) If you liked this, you can also read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (starting with yesterday’s archive installment, since the full archive is by now, at well over a hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know which poems you think are my best.

This poem is also archived on WEbook and as as a Google Doc. If you like it, you are also encouraged to share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.

“Taliesin on the Occasion of his Knighthood”

I have achieved the shield. It is akin to poetry:
An image, clear in color, is framed by the art
Into useful form, for the strength of the realm.

I kneel before Arthur, my eyes on his,
As the flat of his sword stings my shoulder.
Blanchefleur—oh, beloved, do not weep—
And Guinevere the queen now bend
To buckle my shield on my arm.

The scars of my ordeal are fading;
Joy and pride now fill my spirit.
I set my lips to frame a verse,
Striving, by structure and my art,
To recall this moment forever.

This is another of my series of poems set in the Arthuriad. I have no idea where it falls in the internal chronology, but I first wrote its initial version fairly early in the series. Later, when I did a wholesale revision of most poems in the series, it was among them and got some fairly superficial changes, but I only substantially improved it quite recently. To give credit where credit is due, I probably got the idea of using the shield, rather than the sword, to represent knighthood from Tamora Pierce‘s fantasy series.

I always welcome your comments, critique, suggestions (perhaps of a real title for this poem?), or any other feedback on this poem or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you like it, if you don’t like it, if something “works”, if something “doesn’t work”, if it makes you think of something or someone, etc., please comment and say so!) If you like this, you can follow this blog, which includes one of my poems every Friday; you can also read other poems I’ve written here on this blog (or if that list is too intimidating, I’m posting more manageable subsets each week, such as yesterday’s installment, so you can just start with those). I’d particularly like to know which poems you think are my best.

This poem is also mirrored as a Google Doc and on WEbook. If you like it, you are also encouraged to share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.

“Storm”

God sits enthroned over the storm and flood;
In crash of lightning and in howling wind
His glory and his power are displayed.
But we here, sheltered underneath his hand
From danger in the tempest or in calm,
Must now give thanks: His mercy still extends
To those who still defiantly rebel
As well as those who bear his name and kneel.

This was prompted by recent events here: we had a long line of storms, including a few that produced tornadoes, go slowly across the state a couple of weeks or so ago. But the one place in our local area where a tornado touched down and did damage, there were no deaths or even injuries. For the beginning of the poem I draw, of course, from Psalm 29.

As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions, questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you liked this poem, or you didn’t like it, or it made you think of something, or … please leave a comment to let me know.) If you liked this, you can also read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (starting with yesterday’s archive installment, since the the full archive is by now, at well over a hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know which poems you think are my best.

This poem is also archived on WEbook and Google Docs. If you like it, you are also encouraged to share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.