Saturday, 6 July 2013

Saturday 6th July - This April Day - Poem for Easter Week

found this while I was clearing out my computer "drawers" today. Couldn't resist a few more edits before I copied it here - does one ever stop tinkering with something that one has made?

Sometimes a poem just arrives - not complete, but almost, like a design, or a drawing. Then with moulding and shaping, it kind of resolves itself. Other times, nope. just won't work. I've been working on one that starts "She sleeps, curled, like a dormouse" for over twenty years, off and on; the phrase came on seeing my daughter curled up in her cot (she is now 25...)

Anyway, here it is: It's still not quite right. But getting there.





This April day, warm with unseasonable sun,

Will fill your heart with joy; this Sunday is just starting.

Bright sky, pales leaves, fresh flowers. But don’t be taken in.

The clue is in the bitter wind  cutting  through your clothes.

 

This journey’s going nowhere. He might be riding now,

Over sacrifices of palms and cloaks thrown down along his road.

They’re all singing songs of welcome , waving, running by his side.

But very soon they’ll change their tune and call for him to die. 

 

Then he’ll have to walk, Trailing his feet through the dirt and grime,

weighed down with pain and fear, sweat pouring off his face.

Those arms, once opened wide  for  healing  and for blessing

Will now be wrenched, and nailed in place, for hurting and for killing.

 

How will it end? We know the answer. They do not.

Our sun will rise again. Their sky is black.

 

 

Good Friday 2012

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