song for amuirin

Ah!BrightWings

Now Cleo faced the nighttime

she thought the urge a little strange

her pencil and papers

in a stack before her

hoping darkness

her thoughts would arrange.

.

She stared out of the window

thought of her lover sleeping alone

and all of the children

and all of the kisses

and all of their future undone.

.

And the nighttime drifted by her

and she moved along curled in it

past windows of houses

waiting for morning

searching for a someday

that might be yet.

.

There must still be room for trying

for this thing that makes life complete,

for the laughter of children

budging doubt into knowing,

she waited for the stars to speak.

.

But the stars speak only in rainbows,

speak in flickers too quick to record,

but you catch what you can

plan to talk to the man

of the future you can still afford.

.

Because nothing never springs from something.

Something always something begets.

Be it more be it less

be it good as your guess

be it good as honest effort deserves.

.

There’s a path out in the forest

forever closed to all but the sure.

You’ll go there tomorrow

if he will go also

and pray the path

your steps will endure.

.

And the darkness grows a little older,

grows old and round as motherhood.

Old as part seeking wholeness,

the crack in the moment

morning is born,

perhaps the day can be good.

Christ! Perhaps the day can be good.

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This entry was posted in amuirin, children, cleo, gerard manley hopkins, image prompts, paint dept., painting, passion, poem, poetry, relationships, stop and wander, with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to song for amuirin

  1. The painting looks familiar from being shared in the past. It is a corker, of course. Is this poem yours? That is new, and interesting. Before I comment on it, I need to identify its parentage.

    Glenn

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  2. rick mobbs says:

    Hi Glen, painting is from the archives. The poem is, too. A fragment from long ago I pulled out when I was looking for something to do. It shows its age – or its youth. It came out fully formed, which not many of them do, and resists tinkering with now. But you can comment on it without knowing its parentage, can’t you?

    I’m out the door, I’ll catch up with you later.

    Rick

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  3. amuirin says:

    There was so much relevance in this, to me that I was startled to quiet. I don’t know if my reasons for being startled were your reasons for the dedication, but either way- it was an intuitive choice.

    Thank you for digging this up and posting it.

    I have one question– Can you tell me the connection to ‘Gerard Manley Hopkins’? That name in the tags caught my eye, and it was so strange cus maybe an hour after I read this, I picked up a book I’m in the middle of, and his name was referenced in the first paragraph I started reading at. Kind of a strange little echo.

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  4. rick mobbs says:

    amuirin,
    something was tugging my intuition. Like you said the other day, the slant of our writing is revealing. Whatever it was you were writing about in your recent posts twigged something that made me want to pull out tis poem. I am glad it meant something to you.

    Gerard Manly Hopkins, ends his poem, “God’s Grandeur”, with the line,

    “…Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.”

    I have always loved the poem and the line, not to mention the man, an Anglican convert to Catholicism who became a Jesuit priest. Wikipedia has this to say about his death,

    “Although he probably suffered from what today might be diagnosed as either bipolar disorder or chronic unipolar depression, and battled a deep sense of anguish throughout his life, upon his death bed he evidently overcame some of that despondency, at times stygian in its intensity: his last words were “I am so happy, I am so happy.”

    The image I posted with this poem and the last line of the poem itself always bring

    “…Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.”

    I will post the poem in its entirety in a new post above. Hopkins deserves a re-reading.

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