Bede's Advice

Female Sparrow, England, image diliff, cc

Bede’s Advice

 

"O’ King,

It seems to me

The life of man on earth

Is short and swift

Like the flight of the sparrow

In the darkest winter

That flies through the room wherein you sit at supper,

With your earlmen and thegns,

As the fire blazes in your midst,

As the meadhall is warmed,

As drinks are raised about

In salute of your wealth and health

As the wintry storms of snow rage about. 

The tiny sparrow, black and brown, grey and white

Unarmed except for wings

And a chest to boast its prowess

With feathers loosely fitting

As if it forgot to tuck in his shirt

As indescript as the twigs

With which it makes its house

As grimy as the dirt wherein it finds its food

The life of man, O’ King, is short

As this tiny sparrow, who

Flying in the door at once is quickly out the window

O’ King,

While within he’s safe

From the wintry tempest,

From his kith and kin who plot,

From his neighbors who covet his lot,

And would steal his kingdom

So, this life, O’ King, of ours,

Appears for a little while

And what may follow or went before

Is uncertain

[Note. This poem is based a passage from Bede's Ecclesiastical History of England, Chapter XIII, (Bede c. 673-735). The pagan King Edwin of Northumberland wishing to marry a Christian princess was told he must convert. He assembled his advisors and, after listening to the Christian Paulinus, one of Edwin's advisors recited the parable of the sparrow, concluding that if this new Christian teaching brings knowledge more certain, it seems right that the king should follow it.]

Alone My Dogs and I

 Alone, my dogs and I walk by the river, along the lake, and through the woods.

For days and weeks and months
Through all the seasons of the years

In azure days of Spring when flowers came
In Summer’s rain when birds and bees and butterflies took shelter
In Fall when nature’s color was resplendent

And finally,
In the gloom and gray of Winter When all life seems to have gone away
Alone, but for my dogs, these two careless creatures of nature
Naked and unaware
Like Adam and Eve
Of the world’s woes and constant cares
Wandering at the water’s edge
And through the brown and lifeless grass

Looking for some other wild creature to pursue
Happy to be tasked as God intended
To think of pleasure
And not of higher thoughts



And I, …
Alone, but for these two simple dogs
Wonder (Is this God’s gift to man?)
In all God’s vast creation
Do I alone?
Think of what He wrought
And what He must now think
Seeing his beautiful world
Filled with war, famine, and hate
But not here,
Am I
Alone, but for my dogs, these two careless creatures of nature

Life is short

Life is short

So little time,
So much to do
So little time to do it.
So much to do

That I find
Before I finish anything
Phew!
It’s time to start anew.

Each day I rise
To race from dawn to dusk
Oh, a mother’s work is never done
Nor anything her old man does

It’s better said
Stay in bed
Do what's best
And get some rest.

The life so short, the poet said,
The craft so long to learn
This poem now begun is not complete
Before its time to walk the dog.

Valley of the Blind

The Valley of the Blind 

In the Valley of the Blind 
A One-eyed man is King 
For he that sees half as much 
Sees far more than those 
Who care to see not at all 

Careful, what you say 

I see, said the One-eyed man 

See? They said perplexed 
What is ‘to see’ to those 
Who have no eyes nor ears 
To see or hear the truth 

The truth, said he
Stares you in the face 
‘Tis plain to those like me who see 

'Tis better, said they
To truly feel what’s real 

Nothing else makes sense

Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday

All the sainted are in church but I 

I have gone again 
to a holier place
where 
they speak not,
or laugh,
or cry

Let me enter these hallowed grounds

this Easter Sunday

the wind stirs the solemn stillness

and only birds are heard 
to chirp and sing

while grass and trees 
now grow about the headstone

for days on end no one has come

to gaze upon the cracked and fallen stones

and say a prayer for the dead

and read a name or two of those

whose brief lives now come and gone

too quickly, once loved, now forgotten

by all but me

And thee,

if thee, should reads these lines

and feeling curiosity

should seek a Sunday morn

to find a cemetery

down a dusty country road

where a buried child lies

long gone are this child’s kindred souls

will thee, like me wonder

did the mother cry?

and father too?

to lose one so young

in the innocence of youth

Proud parents once brought to tears

parents who were farmers

and sowed their seed in the earth

knowing that bird and drought

would take some,

but not these

not their own

before they were grown

Yet, their faith forbade

a somber thought

‘tis Easter Sunday

the Lord commanded

that one day

their child would rise

to once again laugh and cry