Arcadia

Was watching a programme that included footage of the oracle at Delphi got me thinking about my own time and the number of redundant churches that now just decorate the landscape around here

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I once was here - where morning 

Winged angels hovered on songs

Above our crouched  posture

In the silence of prayer

 

      Forgetting comes by slow turns

And the past’s nostalgia

A myth field of memory

Huddled about questioned hope

 

The sandstone towers remain 

Trialed  against blue - to prick

Quick from the hills gentle curve

Just in case we forgot to bow

 

                                  

 

 

 

 

                                 

 

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They looked on white marble  

An Attic measure - the same

The unnamed plea - life’s debate

Taken to the lay line hill  

 

Our hands still soiled - this mutual dirt

From endless cares of life - unwashed

Not appeased by the steady tread

To weekly hope of relief

 

The cleansing walk of progression

Each time measured by foot slips

Our offered hand fail assay

By the awe of mystery

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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And our seasons -produce crops  

We learn to plough- sow- tend-reap 

Rituals to name changes

Our life a dialectic ….

 

So lines of temples, churches

Taught with their local stone

The untested fixed truths

Which bound us to journey

 

As we become them - echoes

An Ovid tale written down

By our betters - ‘ to amuse’

Our way to Arcadia

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the path of prayer...the beautiful churches...but what goes on behind the scenes, so tragic.
the one place of refuge for many had turned into houses of abuse...
i wonder where America is going?
the pews are soon empty---as are the hearts of so many.
the past is comforting for some, devastating for others...the future likewise.
sorry, Michael...i probably went down a misguided path here...but the poem got me thinking and wandering.
j.

[Michael Oliver]

I think that is the mood I was in when writing this piece Jacob. I was watching a programme about Ancient Greece and the those attic temples struck me with the parallels of our English rural landscape where on sees a church every couple of miles dotted at the heart of each village. This is my musing on the similar lives of the worshippers .
Thank you for reading