“The feet the prophet once”

The feet the prophet once called beautiful,
That walked the dusty roads of Galilee,
Stood on the Mount of Olives one last time.
His hands, still marked where nails had pierced their flesh,
Outstretched in benediction and farewell,
He spoke to give his friends their final charge,
And then was gone, ascended to on high,
Where even now, his task on earth complete,
He sit at God the Father’s own right hand
Until all things are placed beneath his feet.

Yesterday was Ascension Day, so I’ve again tried to capture the event it remembers in today’s poem. I should perhaps mention that the opening line of this is at least the second time I’ve alluded to the famous passage from Isaiah; the other instance was in “Taliesin Before Arthur”.

As always, I earnestly welcome your (further) comments, suggestions (perhaps of a real title for this poem?), 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 , which includes one of my poems every Friday, or read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (perhaps starting with those linked from one of the “archive ” installments, since the full archive is by now, at well over a hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know, as part of my preparations for a collection, which poems you think are my best. You may also share this poem with others, subject to my sharing policy.

This poem is also mirrored on my wiki.


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