I Woke to Glimpse

February 23, 2009

I woke to glimpse a waxing truth

In dreaming guise but soul of sooth;

Before me, ‘tween God’s singing stars

And Devil’s hellish dog-like roars

I saw four Souls, Essential Man

Sans trifling tongue or tribe or time:

The snuffling piggish snout did snort,

Mouth yumming crumbling slop and chum;

The braying warrior belting cries

‘fore charging bravely ‘to the fray;

The lilting voice of lover’s glowed,

What softly speaking Sophist's knew;

But Man, alone ‘twixt Heav’n and earth,

Man the slave of sorrow and mirth,

Did sing his dreaming phantasy

Alone did tell and hear Story!

Glory to God Alone.

Humilitas

The following is one of my favorite poems by Longfellow, along with a poem ("Humilitas") I wrote in response. Take my antagonistic reply to the Master as a sign of respect, not disdain. -KEDB

Excelsior

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, ‘mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!

In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!

“Try not the Pass!” the old man said;
“Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!”
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!

“O stay,” the maiden said, “and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!”
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But steel he answered with a sigh,
Excelsior!

“Beware the pine tree’s withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!”
This was the peasant’s last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!

A traveler, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Sill grasping in his hand of ice
The banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!

Humilitas

By Keith E. D. Buhler
Febraury 2008

To Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

… As morning sun passed mountain crest,
And Alpine town with gold-light dressed,
A pitied youth lay, dead and low,
Who could not say, but coldly showed:
”Humilitas!”

The pious monks of St. Bernard,
Iron-sharp of mind, snow-soft of heart,
Seeing such frozen, foolish pride
Stooped down in prayer, and, tearful, cried:
“Humilitas!”

Quoth maidens: "Father, 'tis no good..."
Quoth peasants: "Look, returns his blood!"
As dead-white hand released its grasp,
The boy's mouth gaped and choked and gasped:
"Humilitas!"

Quoth he: "My fathers, I am well.
Praise Christ, my friends! I come from hell
Where in black serpent's clutch I lay!
He drew back when ‘e heard you pray:
"Humilitas!"

Before the mid-day sun was full
Monks whisked him to St. George Chapel:
"My son, today begins Great Lent.
To prayers! To tears! Let us repent!
Humilitas!"

And from that day 'till Easter morn
In labor was the lad re-born;
No chore too vile, no task too mean,
He sang and scooped the manger clean,
"Humilitas!"

"My son, you're young and in good health;
In flesh revived, now die to self!
We live not 'till we give our life,
By proving full -- to Church or wife --
Humilitas!"

“I promise every day to die;
I’ll seek the maiden as my bride.”
He won her heart, offered a band
Inscribed with Heaven's holy brand:
"Humilitas!"

In autumn, wife gave suckl'ing breast,
While new man’s love grew tireless.
"I know her name, my dear. 'Twill be
That which compels the Trinity:
Humilitas!"

His brow now bright, deep eyes now told
Of joy beyond earth's meagre mold.
A voice like rich, gold clarion rang
Each new morning as he sang:
"Humilitas!"

Glory to God Alone.

Sonnet #1

February 19, 2009

How fair, like two celestial orbs, my dear!

How like the sun and moon -- and yet more bright

For knowledge; for symmetry more lovely-clear!

How shameful then, they should be closed, as night.

Can you not see that virtue's heat and fire

Are warm and happy with a holy glow?

Are you deceived, a girl without her sire,

By petty, pretty vice, and ice-pearls of snow?

When a glorious prince calls, do you sit him down,

Bring him fine red wine and fresh bread, my flower?

Or will you make him wait -- And give a fool's crown,

a kiss, to the porch's tramp, and talk for hours?

It is not comely, leaving sun by moon eclipsed,

My love, to leave my light to dally blindly with those lips.

Glory to God alone.

The Grail

October 20, 2008

To the child of thirsty lips

A chalice wet and chill;

To the fool in Satan's grip

A burning hail of coal.

To the faithful penitent

A twice death-dealing bath;

But to the wild, luxurious men

A bowl of righteous wrath.

As Gabriel's holy mouth once cried

To the Burning Temple, "Hail!"

Behold, you weary, hopeful, child!

The Bloody, Holy Graal!

Glory to God alone.