Testament, p.1
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       Testament, p.1

          Pam Crane / History & Fiction
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Testament
TESTAMENT

An Anthology of Spiritual Poetry

by Pam Crane







Copyright 2017 Pam Crane





Thank you for downloading this free ebook.





Forward to Index of Poems





They Who Kiss Mind



to whom I do belong

to My

to My Self alone



My is a wide net cast

between time

hither and past



Self a sense of eye

watching

in privacy



the blue nerve seen

through wax

is ice-keen



of uncommon kind

are they

who kiss mind



risk discovery in

having

Angels’ skin



the people of Light

cohere

behind my sight



we are the white-gold

aëreën

We are very old





Forward to Index





The Return



In the holy of holies

in thick dark

smelling of birds and stone

my blind hand’s

pilgrimage

unveils

the symbol of life



I have come back



my trails of

four thousand years

and all their images

twist to a single

focus, spin

to one fine brilliant vibrant

point

this Egypt

this temple

this soft dancing-ground

of yellow dogs

echoing sparrows

and buried shame



I have come back



in shadows

my long strange face

shockingly

beholds me

The sun and my son

haunt me

in the reed baskets

jostling crushed notes, cats

cheap azure scarabs

ubiquitous images of my peerless wife



where is my city

flat hot dust a rubble of stones

between the holy cliff

and sun-caught sails

trekkers

stare from donkey-back at the gates

of death that swallowed me

my hymns

my sweet children

flying and creeping creatures

music

all I knew



pilgrims cluster

in temples, in musty tombs

tracing my broken features in the torchlight

following with their finger-tips

fine rays

slim hands of the sun



I have come back

like the dog to its vomit

I cannot undo

naivety

cannot erase

stupidity

cannot abase myself before my golden boy

weeping begging his pardon

cannot unmake

the silly myths of heretic as hero

nor can I dissuade

a thousand souls from wanting to be me



For I am he

stripped of imagination’s glamour

dispossessed

of eyes name scraped away

in the king list bones

vanished

regalia food for thieves



I am he

trapped in another life and pinioned

to this shock newsreel

ancient failure

abject penitent

powerless to plead

to all these enchanted eyes

my god delusion



Drowning in memory grasping

my own debris

as it passes

Begging

the last feather to outweigh

my guilty soul





Forward to Index





The Thrill of the Chase



I came in nineteen forty-three;

You are a child compared to me!

But every year we share a date

In January; we celebrate

Four seasons more since we were born

In late, ambitious Capricorn.



At eight, you’re racing in your Kart;

At eight I’m winning with my art

And then my writing - oh, the thrill

Of chasing prizes! Love it still.

But by the time you came to be

A champion driver in F3

I raced toward another goal,

The understanding of the soul.



Came the millennium, came F1

And Pluto transiting our Sun.

You diced with Kimi, Massa, Seb

As I went hunting on the web

For information, dates and times,

For synonyms and perfect rhymes.



One decade ended, one began;

From Oz to Yas you were The Man,

Jenson; you had chased and won

Your longed-for moment in the sun.

And I? ... was being born again

After the years and years of pain,

After my Jesus’ great surprise,

After so many fruitless tries

To greet the waiting world on-line,

I built a Site. Entirely mine.



Now I can hunt for distant friends,

And show them where my rainbow ends;

Share the excitement of this chase

To comprehend the human race

As tiny shards of the Divine

Through Sun and planet, arc and sign.



And you? ... are stepping from your car,

Drawn to where the athletes are.

Your F1 training made you trim

And super-fit to run and swim,

To cycle Riviera hills;

You still need racing and its thrills.

Another track, a wider smile,

Pushing your limits mile on mile.



What are we chasing? Money? Fame?

The fire inside us is the same,

Both driving - driven - for a prize

Which no amount of money buys:

The joy that yet again we’ve done

Our Maker proud - and it was fun!





Forward to Index





1Choosing



On my right, the voices of love and hope.

On my left, the voices of pain and war.

Between extremities there is so much scope

For the soul’s philosophising ; we can soar



On wings as angels - oh, how like a god!

Or fall beneath the bloody boot, the rod

Of iron, or the bitter ghosts of ice.

Be wary, Man, for God does not play dice.





Forward to Index





OUR LORD’S PRAYER



Loving, eternal Father of us all,

Blessed and praised with so many holy names!

Open our hearts and eyes to the light of your Kingdom,

Inspire our minds and hands till the world of souls

Can work your Will in harmony with the Heavens.



Fling wide for us the door of your compassion,

And help us to trust the wisdom of your giving;

And as we learn to long for what is good,

To face our folly, and make our recompense,

Grace us with Truth:

We all are the One Life;

Forgiving each other in love is the end of fear.



Through the enlightened mind,

Through the compassionate heart,

Through the subjected will,

Draw us into your Glory and our joy!



Amen, amen, amen.





Forward to Index





ENCOUNTER



Mid-August.

It is now night.

The little town

Is scattered with happy light.

He turns to her he loves

In the attic room -

‘Go down

And bring the water, darling,

That we must

Take home.’

She gathers bottles, kisses him

And leaves

Amid the sleepy murmur of settling doves

Under the hotel eaves,

Managing the uncomfortable stair

To a thin door,

Steep paths,

And warm velvet Pyrenean air.



The hot day’s diesel

Dissipates.

The café-bars

Reel with visiting Irish, blarney arms

Around their mates.

She skirts foreign cars

Down into the main street,

Into the swell

Of pilgrims, past the late

Bright kiosks, the emporia;

She has let her feet

Feel their own way, carry her

Into the heart of Lourdes,

Into the evening throng,

A people-river in which she is borne along.



And it is then

Amid the images

Of plastic basilicas, and Bernadettes,

Candles, rosaries and grotto sets,

Of Mary in roses,

Mary pierced with swords,

Mary in flashing rainbows,

Mary on clouds

That amid the crowds

She is met; and entered.

It is then she knows

This evening is extraordinary

Because on her walk for water

She is one with Mary.



The arms open wide; she is God’s daughter.

Into the darkness she is streaming love

Out of a double heart

And all the people can see as she passes by

(Could they perceive such things)

It is Heaven’s eye

That lights on them

And the hands, the fingers

That pour forth crippled souls’ healing

Lift from her like wings.



She has been set apart;

And the ineffable sweetness of Our Lady lingers

Even when she has entered the Domain,

Lightly touching the lonely,

Those in pain,

The nuns, the nurses, patient volunteers,

Giving

Her love untiring

To the hopeless, to the devout

Clutching their souvenirs

At the holy spring,

To the merely curious and to those barely living

The infinite healing loveliness streams out.



Mary is in her as she fills each flask

At the spigots, Mary behind her eyes

In the torchlight.

Around her the old rocks and worn buildings rise.

She is not allowed to make an offering,

Even to ask

If it would be right

To save the basilica and its crumbling steeple.

Words come onto her own lips silently,

‘Buildings are not important. Only people.’



She and Our Lady turn to make their way

Out of the town.

Now she is climbing steps that she came down

When she was still alone.

‘Look by your feet!’

There in the stone

Is a perfect image of Mary and her Child.

In the pitch dark on her PDA

The picture is drawn and filed.

Then, the journey complete,

Mary is gone.



Up in the hotel room, herself again,

She hands holy water to the dearest of men,

Is kissed,

Has been, as ever, missed.

How was she back so late

Leaving him so painfully long to wait

Instead of coming straight

From the Domain? ...



Even to him,

In her transfigured state,

Can she explain?





Forward to Index





AMOR CHRISTI



My bond with you

Is not the binding of a superstition -

I have not said

‘To guarantee good luck I’ll follow You.’

I do not wear your symbol as a charm.



My care of you

Is not the care that comes of obligation;

I will not pay

Attention to you by man’s calendar,

Nor do the will of any less than you.



My work for you

Is driven not by greed for recognition

Nor by the need

To compensate for some great weight of sin;

Because you ask me, I do everything.



My words for you

Cannot be pages of propitiation -

Awe and fear,

Eulogies, interminable prayer,

Begging and preaching, you will never hear.



And when I greet you

I will not bow, or kneel, or bend my head;

I cannot meet

Your steady gaze that way. I will not turn

My face, nor stay away,

My Friend,

From your embrace.





Forward to Index





A SONG TO GOD



If I would sing a song to God

Then I must sing a song for Man -

And I must sing it from the heart

As freely as an angel can.



If I would sing a song for Man,

Then I must sing for every Tree -

For every leaf that breathes my breath,

And every branch that shelters me.



If I would sing of Man and Tree

The song must be of Sun and Rain,

Of feeding bird and humble bee

Who sow the green of wood and plain.



If I would sing of Tree and Rain,

Then I must hymn the dancing Sea

Who pounds the land from stone to sand,

Whose silver gifts of cloud are free.



If I would sing of cloud and Sea,

I serenade the mighty Moon;

For in her palm are Storm and Calm,

Her children with the Lord of Noon.



If I would sing of Sea and Moon

I lift my praises to the Sun

Who governs all from Spring to Fall,

The Life, the joy in everyone.



If I would sing of Moon and Sun,

The silver Queen, the golden King

Whose light reveals what God conceals

In every heart - to God I sing!





Forward to Index





ARACHNID



Love me, love my god

I go in fear of peace I promise me

Do not unravel him

he at the heart of death in wait for me



Who preys on all men's prayer

I web the world he with my spinneret

Up fly and catch

Promise and arthropomorphic dream



Star set in a man's skull

His morning beads a myriad I count

With him we tell

And wait for the updraught dawn dusk underwing



O silver god-hand I

Make to be at the last enlaced and all

Manner of many

Legged unwary other me o give us manna



Before making love to the

Last rose o beautifully bind us

Before the real

Unapprehended fang of our own myth grinds in





Forward to Index





Water - Sky - Fire - Earth



We came, swimming

amid the sound of mermaid tails

and elders chanting - the tales they gave

of ancient drowning murmured across

rhythms of whale song

the whole sea hymning



Into the clouds we came

and lost ourselves

the sound of hills growing

as they gave back the gift of rain

stilled us as the heaven moved across

our consciousness

as known, just as unseen



Out of the core we came

dragons of old old story

spoke with the sound of flame

courted the heroes’ swords

they gave us an evil name

robbed us and maimed us sorely

yet we remain the same

guards of the golden hoards



We came in secret

from our deep mole-homes

in the blinding dark

the sound of grass growing

of worm feeding

gave us direction, tunnelling across

nobody else’s vision





Forward to Index





1Clouds On The Horizon



The clouds on the horizon

Are the spirits of the Bison

And they bellow in the thunder

With a fury at the plunder

Of the masters of the plains.

(Oh the pitiful remains!)



The clouds on the horizon

Are the spirits of the Bison.

In the glory of the lightning

Is the beautiful and frightening

Accusation of their eyes.

(Oh the sorrow of the skies!)



The clouds on the horizon

Are the spirits of the Bison;

They are crowding, they are coming,

And the Warriors are drumming

And the people of the gun

Haven’t anywhere to run.



From horizon to horizon

Sweeps the triumph of the Bison,

He has put his mighty shoulder

To the cataract and boulder;

Men will answer for their greed

In the heavenly stampede.



The clouds on the horizon

Are the spirits of the Bison.

They will spare all those who love them,

Passing harmlessly above them -

But the Cities of the Plain

Have to learn it all again.



Wail for sons and weep for daughters

Taken by the scouring waters;

Rage at industry and spire

Lost to earthquake, wind and fire.

Ah, the spirits of the Bison

Are the clouds on your horizon...





Forward to Index





CONQUEST



Sing songs of the dark font where I was named,

And of her I seek,

Who comes from the same chill God-house
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