The pollen fight
a chronic ill.
Her misery writes
a chronicle.
19
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Two of my ancestors built houses hundreds of years ago and they are still full of life and treasure..
John built a house in the heart of old Englandback when Sir Francis Drake
was plundering for Spanish gold.
Later John had a grandson Thomas
who filled that house with three million pounds of treasures
in today's money
hauled back to England,
souvenirs of sunny Italy -
large paintings that hang there still:
by Salvator Rosa, Giacinto Brandi, Filippo Lauri
and more.
In the century afterwards another John
built a markedly more modest house
in the heart of New England
a decade after the Mayflower Pilgrims battled for life
in the winter of their arrival.
This John had grandsons too
who returned his precious Communion set
cups and plates in low luster pewter
along with the Bible he rescued
from falling embers on the trans Atlantic voyage -
a Puritan treasure that now lies open in a glass case,
open to pages John so carefully patched.
More centuries pass
and both houses stand still
guarding similar hoards -
each a library
with shelf upon shelf of precious books.
Lamport Hall in Northamptonshire, UK and the Sturgis Library in Barnstable, Massassachucetts, USA - both house celebrated book collections. Ancestors: John Isham of Lamport 1525-1595 and John Lothropp of Barnstable 1584 -1653
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The table top's solid seemingsurface is dense timber,
but I gather now it's
riddled top to legs
with tiny spinning particles
suspended in a large space -
these whirling bits
nested each in each
smaller and smaller
like Russian dolls until they
vanish in one quantum
disappearing act
leaving only code -
glittering code that radiates
the Logos spoken in long ribbons
sustaining
like sticks for spinning plates
the tiny whirling particles
in the circus act of God's
boundless exuberance
tabled - just beneath the surface
and discretely out of sight.
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The Reverend John Lothropp Restores Jerusalem
An ember from the flickering lamp
falls on John Lothropp's Bible
open to the Acts of the Apostles
obliterating
the journey of James to Jerusalem
abolishing half the city there --
in fact burning away most of verse thirteen
chapter thirteen
in the annotated 1605 English Bible
which the Reverend John afterward restored
applying a neatly trimmed
precisely pasted oval of precious paper
garnered from who knows where
and with his quill dipped in dark ink
to imitate the tufted printer's font
along with the f-like 's' in Jerusalem
on the mid Atlantic 1635 voyage of the Griffin
among the shifting boxes and barrels
below deck, the dark
illuminated by a sputtering lantern that
swayed overhead as the sea swelled
source of the impish ember
that fell to burn away
the journey of James to Jerusalem
and Paul to Pamphylia -- sat there reading
at that moment of fiery destruction -
the Reverend John mindfully
having set sail one and a half millennia
in the wake of James bound for Jerusalem
and like Paul abroad on
somewhat similar sail driven ships
came John Lothropp, to minister the Word
in a distant land.
Did John, inking the missing five letters, see
a parable of Jerusalem restored
a burning bush moment emanating the very voice of God?
Perhaps by Puritan persuasion he anticipated
a New England Jerusalem like
Governor Winthop's City on a Hill?
Or rather by hint of his own ink
was he pointed beyond immediate prospects
to the City of Light whose river flowed
sweet among the healing trees
in the wake of the Day of the Lord?
The glorious city saluted
in the final pages of his
1605 English Bible.
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We've had about two dozen sheep
mostly three or four at a time
over the last four decades.
All of them had names.
As of today there is only Smudge
because this morning
I filled in the hole
where we rested Smudge's mother
old Salty.
These four footed parables
have recalled the prophets
as a sheep before her shearers is dumb
white as wool
at least when newly fleeced
and maybe once or twice
one of our sheep was
led as a lamb to the slaughter.
They've made us consider
our human selves
dumb in that other sense too
strong willed
yet so easily led
fleet of foot
tough, rugged
all weather creatures
yet so readily preyed upon.
Some won our hearts
especially one little black lamb.
Marion wept when she was
savaged beyond repair
by the neighbor's dog.
But strong too --
Rabbit, on account of her long ears
once reared up
and planted her hooves on my shoulders --
pushed me to the ground.
Individuals
with quirks
and particular appetites.
Smudge likes banana skins.
The annual clip
never brought more than a couple of dollars
but there's payment in other ways
like with little children's faces
peering though the fence
timidly reaching to touch the creatures
eating the oats they've emptied on the ground
like sheep as parables
underscoring
my thank-you list and
showing up my shortcomings.
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Edward W Jenks peers
through the viewfinder of
his 1906 Brownie box camera.
When the camera clicks
he catches my great grandmother
Florence as she smiles
in her voluminous Gibson Girl dress.
Sitting kerbside she points
to direct the attention
of two small children.
Edward on the right
is my father,
nearly three.
Next to him is
little sister Marsha,
almost two.
In the following year Marsha is taken to heaven.
(Had I been born a girl I would have been Marsha's namesake.)
Later on comes toddler Paul
who also left this life behind
at two years old
and later still another baby boy
gone before he could be given
a name of his own.
Of my father's seven siblings
three died as little children.
Back when families bearing a small box
toward a newly dug grave
was not such an uncommon sight
how then was all the sorrow borne?
This year my own grandson
was taken just days before his seventh birthday --
the day that ended all his pain.
It followed four and a half years trekking
every newly minted trail of
promising medical procedures
leaving punishing grief tattooed forever
behind the eyes of my son and daughter-in-law.
What if childhood death is actually harder now?
Harder with expectations honed
by many fewer children's graves?
Harder because hospitals abound
with life sustaining artifice
dangling hope upon hope?
Could it actually be harder now?
And how perverse is that?
But who could ever measure the 'hard'?
I can barely even imagine my grandparents
and their children
in the days when they wept their good-byes.0Add a comment
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There was a young couple called Sprattconcerned over getting too fat.However ice creamwas the stuff of their dreamsand so they forgot about that.0
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Ice cream loverslicking their treatsgreat uncle Louand the things he repeats.Katz the magicianand Pippi the thiefJesse the jokerand chalk artist Pete.Who are some othersyou're likely to meetround the next bendin Tasmania Street?0
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The pastry chef and maitre d'cannot decide what it should be.
A sweet souffle and apple tartor layered cake served a la carte?0Add a comment
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Fifty cents will buy a winka blink will cost a dollarbut paying any price I thinkis kinda hard to swallah.0
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Sheila Shenanigan all unwounddoesn't move or make a sound.But when you tighten up her springsSheila walks about and sings.0
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That's cool :)
ReplyDeleteOddly we have both taken the pun? of chronic illness.
ink tears on parchment cheeks from you then...well, hayfever makes my eyes swell and water anyway...
You do great shorts Ish. IMO.
Oh, just had a look at that site you mentioned, the bible one...
ReplyDeletetodays verse of the day...
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
??? is this meant as an incitement advocating anarchy??? ... sorry Ish, sometimes i'm a little on the facetious side...
Actually i'm glad you have to look up your quotes :) I find the ones that reel it off the tops of their heads a little on the intense, and frankly a little intimidating, side.
I also feel a little pity for them, as it's a huge book to memorise, so they can't have much of a social life, or see much of the world around them as they must have their noses glue to The Book whenever they are not out bashing people with it...
oops, starting that rant again...
shall shut up now.
see you later :)
The Book is a map or like a signpost. To obsess over, even practically worship the book, as some do, and miss the contours and filigree of the world around them is to forget what The Book is for. The Book says repeatedly for example that the Creation is 'good'. If 'good' then how appropriate is it to always have ones 'nose glued’ in The Book? If there is not correspondence between the Book and the world we experience, it does not 'ring true', and should be abandoned.
ReplyDeleteTake the verse you cited. If you sense, as I and others do, that evil is something larger than the sum of its parts, the real struggle is ultimately elsewhere and will never be resolved by putting down the latest despot, getting the right bit of education or swallowing a pill. Ultimately we are powerless 'against the powers of this dark world' and in the 'anarchic' struggle the Book points out that people can appropriate the hope (and power) embedded in that battle on a cross. In this world of surprises, that just might be true. :-)
Hmm, the ol' good/evil debate :)
ReplyDeleteThe problem as I see it is that both 'good' and 'evil' move. By that I mean, lets see, I’ll use an example that's just wrong...
Long ago, anyone not following the Christian rules was classed as evil and burnt or whatever...
The killing was a 'good' thing then, and yet now it’s moved, its 'evil'...
So, that alone implies that G & E are purely human attributes, dictates of the current society’s moral standards, ergo God does not exist as the paragon of good and in fact good is a purely abstract concept, and the converse holds as well...
No good. No evil.
Having said that, I really like the idea of both…
Especially possible physical manifestations of them, a god or a demon, they offer themselves as muses so readily, of course physically have one or the other as a neighbour would be very unpleasant.
err...i'm doing it again am i not...
if i ever overstep a boundry Ish, just tell me :)
This is TOO good! Loved it. Short, sweet and succinct!
ReplyDeletegautami
rooted.
Nice twist. Sniff!
ReplyDeleteA most evil act is to masquerade as and to subvert the good. Calling the burning-at-the-stake done in the name of Christ, 'Christian' is like calling the current China ethos ‘communist’. In my view the betrayals (and history has thousands) tend to authenticate. (Why should Evil bother with that which is of no consequence?) Is it an unjustified jump (but a popular one) to go from some blurred moral issues to the categorical denial of good and evil. That's a post-modern kind of thievery that leaves us empty handed … and empty of soul as well.
ReplyDeletegautami tripathy ... thank you :-)
ReplyDeletehundred and one ... humm I suspect I should have left a couple of tissues on the blog for fellow pollen sufferers. :-)
I did say the example was a wrong one :)
ReplyDeleteempty of soul...there's a whole new can of worms and words to play with :)
Again, we'll have to differ, I can't see a true 'Evil' existing the same as I can't see a true 'Good'. I really don't believe there is an Evil to fight, but as a non-believer that's not really suprising.
and once again, sorry for turning your blog into a religous debate, maybe I should have started it on my own pages...
ReplyDeleteBummer. Best wishes for a speedy recovery.
ReplyDeleteJanie Hickok Siess, Esq.
ReplyDeleteThang you!
inc. I love these dicussions with you at the inner nub of the 'biggies'. Hummm, disbelief. There are those who hold that disbelief is evil's ultimate achievement.
I dare say many (who am i kidding with many) who read my poem type things would agree...at least if not evil, at least disturbed :)
ReplyDeletewonder what people would think if they ever met me...
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ReplyDeleteInc., you write about a broad spectrum of things and I suspect that in the flesh there would be a discontinuity with some of it. I picture a mild mannered, affable bloke who lives fairly conventionally and spends an inordinate amount of time hunched over a keyboard,… :-) (Now I am expecting you to reveal that you are actually a woman journo working in regional Usbekistan and posting by satellite link up. The family entirely invented.)
ReplyDeleteI read some of your poems for the first time today. I enjoyed realising for the first time as I read them what the poem's idea was, embedding myself in your musings firstly and then in the event. There is an objectivity in them, and yet at the same time an implied subjectivity. Definitely food for thought, or poetry for thought. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteLol
ReplyDeleteI picture a mild mannered, affable bloke who lives fairly conventionally and spends an inordinate amount of time hunched over a keyboard,…
ok, change mild to ill, affable to a-hole of a, ...but the the keyboard bit is reasonably accurate, it's either pen in hand, nose in book, or eyes on 'puter-screen with me...
:)
Ingenious rhyme in four lines. Your creativity always provides for a refreshing read, Steve. ^_^ I've also relished going over your previous posts (and I've left comments, too, on "The Tale" and "Fate of Ships"). Be blessed.
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ReplyDelete