My hiatus from posting is now (mostly) at an end. At long last, this year's issue of Agora has been published, and I am happy to say that two of my submissions were accepted, one of which I will share with you now.
So - enjoy!
+JMJ
On
the Wayside
By Caitlin Clancy
Copyright 2014
To my mother
On the crest
of a bare vermillion hill
Bathed in
bold breeze, wind’s breath like thunder
Gold in the
glow and red thereunder
He fastened
his purple cloak asunder
And took the
wind like wine
Full fair of
face and flushed in cheek
Standing
like the brazen gods of old
He wore his
purpose, a priestly cope
Eyes blazing
and blue, burgeoning hope
With an ice
that refused the cold
From that
earth-proud brow he strode below
And knelt at
the wood-hewn shrine
And he
thought upon the waves that laugh
And the
mysteries of the world, and Bath
And the
heathen praise that was a calf
Gold that is
all too fine
The figures’
wood had stilled their gaze
But yet
their eyes with tears seemed raw
Her
night-blue cloak long rain had faded
And the
God-child’s whiteness no traveler aided
But both as
one seemed too poor to be raided
The last
sign Njal’s race saw
Power-carved
hands clutch at fiercer face
His memory
is pain
For they who
strew maiden’s death and run
Took the fine
filly-mares black and dun
Baptized and
blessed and given by none
Save the
sacrament of a grave sun
He wept then
and was not ashamed
But for his countrymen’s
curse and their vibrant sin
But still he
thought the Child looked on him
And the Lady
softly smiled
He remained
as still and wood as they
While the
wind buffeted, dried his face
And he knew
the lot of the Northern blood
The last of
those who fled the Flood
The bane of
Adam’s race
Rising then there
rose with him
A dignity
restored
No more the
fearsome living death
With dragon’s
fire and demon’s breath
Could cloud
one from the line of Seth
The third of
Adam born
Down the sea
road he strode again
Back to the
ships that sway
But first he
rev’renced his Mother dear,
And her
God-child at play
Soon came
the wind-night and swallowed them all
Into soft,
velvety maw
The shrine
in the white of Diana’s ray
Saw the
ships go with the passing of day
But still he
looked back through the dawn-mist grey
For the
faded blue that he could almost say
Was deeper
sapphire than the woodless way
On this, his
Mother’s day.
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