Ravelling
Penelope just cannot seem
To stitch the seam to stop her shroud –
She warps her wefts and weaves her wools,
And intermingles through the crowd.
But somehow, she can’t cast them off,
Who lurk around her loom –
They watch her fingers thread and pull,
To work the fabric of her tomb.
The New Zoo
She has the memory of a goldfish,
In that she remembers pretty well.
She is a frog in a warming dish
That knows it is no place to dwell.
And she’s a giraffe who loves shut-eye,
An ostrich with her head held high,
A colourblind bull when the red rags fly,
And an old wife with new tales to tell.
Meditation
Staring deep in wonder at an apple,
Or contemplating where to move in chess,
Shutting-out the thoughts with which we grapple –
Boring, boring, boring mindfulness !
Lazy-arses squatting in believe-ment,
While others get stuff done so you can pray –
But beauty’s in distraction and achievement,
And life’s too short for omming it away.
Adderbolts
OED first citation for dragonfly: 1626
Where were the darts of Galilee ?
And the damsels of the Rubicon ?
Was Runnymede so needle-free,
Or the Athens Woods of Oberon ?
So where are all the dragonflies ?
There’s not a word in tale or scroll –
The Greeks and Romans closed their eyes,
The monks and knights ignored them whole.
It took the new Enlightenment
To even notice them at last –
And then Romantics sought intent
In Nature bold and wild and vast –
Till Art Nouveau, which gave them wings
That keeps them soaring till this day –
As wardens of eternal springs,
Where dreamy Summers while away.
So where were the dragonflies of Hermes ?
Why no mention in the myths ?
Why did Freya not claim these flurries,
Crafted by the finest smiths ?
Perhaps the Bible’s just too dry
For water-sprites as story-tools,
But rainy Europe shouldn’t shy
To catch the eye with flying jewels.
Transforming in among the reeds,
A lit’ral metamorphosis –
The fey-folk surely rode these steeds ?,
Yet Brigid never knew such bliss.
Shouldn’t the Devil have taken hold ?,
Or gargoyles, say, or heraldry ?
Yet where were the dragonflies of old ?,
Who chirped and danced for nobody.
‘Adderbolt’ is the only earlier name for them that I couold find, and this only dates from 1483, according to the OED, and ‘Devil’s darning needle’ is only from 1809.
And finally, the image below is from a poster which looks reminiscent of others advertising the various Art Nouveau exhibitions at places like the V&A.cHowever, I cannot find out anything else about this particular image, and if it is even an original by William Morris. I hope it isn’t AI…
The Judgement of Parishes
Zeus was tried for rape and murder,
So were all his kin –
And the verdict came back guilty
For their cruelty and sin.
Their sentence was to be forgotten –
Maybe not in name,
And yet from our hearts and from our prayers,
We snuffed their precious flame.
We found a god of kindness
Over whom to make a fuss –
Though just as much a lie, of course,
But one that suited us.
He that hath the Key of David
Peter, Peter, holding the keys to Heaven –
Without them, he’s quite undressed !
And looking so very med’eval in expression,
Upon the Papal crest.
And always two, when crossed or in the hand,
As their fated moment waits –
Presumably to seal up the hinterland
Behind the Pearly Gates.
Duplicates ? Or are there two locks ?
Though Roman keys were crude in their click –
I guess the security has taken some knocks,
And been upgraded to the latest trick –
But by flashing the teeth, you’ll hardly outfox
The burglars, who won’t find them hard to pick.
Peter, Peter, jailer or janitor ?
Jingling through the Heavenly crowds.
And locking the safe like a manager,
Or winding-up the clockwork clouds ?
Less Polymath, More Monomath
Leo, Leo, heavenly man,
A mathematician who became a priest –
You knew about sin, and cos, and tan,
And the factors of the Number of the Beast.
But you favoured Logos over logic,
Never counting the chromosomes of the Son –
So now you teach a numeric bodge
By claiming one plus one plus one is one.
Habemus Poppycock
The Pope gave a blessing in Latin,
To a rapt and clueless crowd,
Nodding along like they understood
This showing-off spouted aloud.
He might as well have spoken in Klingon,
To please a handful of nerds –
It would have done just about as much good,
To the un-understanding herds.
Perhaps the Pope is one of those pedants
Who cannot accept things change –
And thinks that holiness is got
From the old, exotic, and strange.
Though maybe he spoke in Latin
So to reach the ears of the Lord –
But does that imply that God is a monoglot,
Stubborn and easily bored ?
Custodia Golgothae
“Say ye, ‘his disciples came by night, and stole him away while we slept’.”
– Matthew 28:13
“You what ? You want we let you take
The very thing we’re here to guard ?
And claim we couldn’t keep awake,
While you came by to simply shake
The boulder from the tomb ?
Have you a notion just how hard
And noisy that would be ?
Or how to fall asleep on duty
Likely means our doom ?
Keep your shekels, keep your plot –
And we shall keep our heads.
For losing corpses, like as not,
Is something that won’t be forgot –
And fatal to behold.
It’s late – best be off to your beds,
And let the fallen rest.
Remember him when at his best,
Not when he’s lying cold.”
The Holy Grail
The cup was just another cup,
And owned by just an inn.
Its purpose was to hold the liquids
Poured out of the skin.
It would be simple earthenware,
With not a jewel in sight –
A vessel meant to do a job,
Like any other night.
It wasn’t the cup of a carpenter,
For it never was his to own –
But merely rented for the meal
As a unremarked-on loan.
It would be washed and set at table,
With a dozen more –
And used by other lips tomorrow –
That’s what cups are for…
Relics are just relics
Of the talismans of old –
Why the search for dreaming clays,
And not the wines they hold ?
The Gospels often mention who is hosting Jesus for a meal, so the fact that they are silent on who provided the Upper Room for the Last Supper makes me think it could have been at an inn. And although this was a Passover meal, it seems unlikely the establishment would have kept a separate set of crockery just for one day. The vessels were probably made from the local terra rossa or marl clay, producing earthenware, with minimal decoration similar to that shown (albeit at the other end of the Empire).
And on a tangent, but isn’t it curious how obsessed we are with the grail that held the original wine, but couldn’t care less about the platter that held the original bread ?
Rhyming Couplets 