Evensongs

Cowled Beauty – Jonathan Allen

    Hillside haiming of raised
    Smells seen- colours tasted tasseled
    Degged over with colour

    Splotched and streeled-
    Sent gently quavering-
    Quook in colouring col’s breath:
                            O praise Him!

The Dawning Fire – David Henreckson

    In virgin days, forgotten by the sun,
    The mystic sylvan shadows flickered low.

                    The golden morn had dawned.

    The forest gods withdrew into the shade;

    With stilted breath, the hushed expiring wisps
                    Breathed out the magic mist.

    The Duir that fed on blood-red human life,
    And Ruis that called the spirits from the pit,
                    Now saw a light and quaked.

    For on the feast day, none shall keep a fire;
    But on the hill, a stranger did not fear,
                    For Patrick was his name.

Tree-hymn – Jonathan Allen

    Quaking, quailing shook from bower to earth-slaking
                    Quick-gold, yare-shimmered and shorn

    Leaf-lapping on wind’s heavingbreath breaking
                    Here held, each leaf a cathedraled cloister borne
    Garnished in praise, gelded in gold, light-sheening

                    Soft speaks: praises Him, all Sustainer
    Word wrought, holds to being.

    Sifting-gold lift praise! Sheening, richleaves fleeting
                    O praise Him, O blessed Son of God!

An De Fluich – Jonathan Allen

    O! the world wears a Gaelic mood-
    A deep mood, a gray-blued mood

    All throughout and within her life
    Thriving- here Gaelic corseted curve is rife
    Of rained-tree wrought with water
    Thrown up and under the dim rain-halter
    Fog staved and fog blurnished

    And all is swept, swept and burnished
    With Gaelic rain and with Gaelic shroud
    Here yaupon whispers not over-loud
    Weighed down with life and watered-brow
    Here the soft leaows are now

    Softer yet, yet set quick-yare
    And birds call forth from rain-holt lair
    Of brushed leaf borne with fog-
                All is kegged and embowered, shunted over and shaughed

                            Neath Gaelic mood, over the world- brief yet- broods.

Et Ego In Arcadia – David Henreckson

    The virgin huntress of the sky
    Had loosed her arrow, and struck

    An enchanted tree in the willow grove.
    Loosed from their cosmic moorings,
    The heavenly lights shot to the very edge
    Of the sky, and hung in living glory
    Behind the mask of mist which draped

    The canopy of earth…
    As she gazed.

    Breath exhaled in mist, mingling
    With the dust of stars; At the edge

    Of the grove, sitting with loosened limbs,
    The eternal mistress of Arcadia
    Was shrouded in the midnight glistening.
    Gazing at her domain, the full-orbed silence
    Of the deep moon, the star-bound spell

    Was chanted, and the sylvan dance began…
    As she sang.

    Rising and descending like the green sea,
    The rolling waves of grass were edged

    With starlight. Alive with the dance,
    Ancient fields meditating, enchanted groves exhaling,
    Timeless skies pouring over the horizon,
    Meeting and joining in the endless union.
    With the silver tinkle of her voice,

    The foundations of the earth were loosed…
    As she laughed.

Evensong – Jonathan Allen

    Ere dusk light laid gloaming down
    On grass-blade green-gelded:
    Garm of light, lorn of the holding ground
    For a fleet-still moment. Light

                Reams and gleams over greenlawn
                        Light ends lofted flight in dusk-dawn

    Hedge holds to light, to gleam and gold
    Tassled in climbing shifting green
    In bowered reverence old-
    Old as dusk and holt-held light

                Oak sings, on dusk-dawn wing
                        Birds soft rise, and evensong bring.

Black Venom – David Henreckson

    Black venom etches through the canyon deep;
    Magnificence is torn, and mire reveals

    A serpentine terrain; Earth sorely weeps,
    Weeps tears of blood and death; before her kneel
    The beasts of every kind; they cry for want
    Of peace and slither in their vulgar slime
    To seek and devour; they caverns haunt,

    Escaping One who knows the vile crime.

    Yet all shall wake! a thousand glorious suns
    Cascade eternal morns upon the earth;
    The humblest babe shall tame the slith’ring one;

    The land shall be renewed and drunk with mirth.
    Dark chasms moan to see the dawning light;
    Nocturnal rule is crushed and set to flight.