Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Glory of the Goat - 15/30

Half-way done already. I swear, there's no quicker way to kill a month than a poem-a-day challenge. Insane.

Anyway, as for today's poem, I have a bit of a confession. This poem is one I've actually been working on for the past three days. Is that cheating? Eh, I don't care. It rocks and I love it. And you will too...or else...

Glory of the Goat 

Never ere have our horns curled their spiraled pride
so far into the belly of the welkin's lofty tide.
Its splendor and esteem├Ęd heights wreathe our bleeding racks,
just like that lucifugous Pan we hide behind our backs:
the angel Heaven suffered not amongst its prostrate throng,
but cast like Hell-bound lightning with the anchor of his wrong.
And we star-browed terebinths still stretch our tallest fingers
to the ax head at our roots withal the worm professed to linger –
that cancer Adam set to gnaw upon his blighted progeny,
once for all excised by Christ in Golgothic theophany.
Oh, how we thrust upon the throne of breathless sky!
Agrippa's worship-bloated trunk…fallen down to die.

Our cave-cast shadow and the fabled satyr in its shade,
the familiar arc of horn our glass-faced exaltations made.
Remember this duality ere further down you plod:
the Roman-spoken kindness and severity of God
the lamb with flesh so soft neath fist and its sanguivorous nails;
the lion with incited teeth seen in a cat's nine tails.
Easily the shepherd bruises, and quietly he waits,
but think you not this Yeshua one to mug for Heaven's gates.
Came he once as part and whole by whom we walk in peace;
yet there are bones beneath the sea who know him as Decease,
the claret-edged end of patience, judgment's ursine maw,
the Kishon's ruby sluice imploring don't repeat our flaw…

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