A PLEA FOR FAITH

‘The Incredulity of St. Thomas’ by Caravaggio (c.1601) Now in the Sanssouci Palace, Potsdam, Berlin, Germany

I composed these verses many years ago, in my youth, when struggling to come to terms with my staunchly Christian upbringing, and to move into a less accepting, more questioning future.  In many ways I have moved forward very little since.

Print words of faith into my heart;
Brand me with irons of proof;
Dispel the doubts that have held me
So long from thee aloof.

I need the truth, I can’t say why –
I won’t let you desert.
I want to find those inner wounds,
I need to feel your hurt.

My outer self accepts you whole,
And shields you from assaults.
Effectively, I water down
And camouflage your faults.

Believe me when I say I try,
But that will not suffice.
A great despair dispels the light
And the devil’s fiends entice.

But when the doubts arise inside
I can’t dispel the gloom,
Because I know I’m losing you
and hurtling to my doom.

The devil prompts and makes me ask
That central question “Why?
Do I really believe in God above,
Below or in the sky?”

Then I reflect and need to know
If all my past is sham.
Why do so many still believe
He was the Son of Man?

Print words of faith into my heart;
Brand me with irons of proof;
Dispel the doubts that have held me
So long from thee aloof.

The Way Ahead?

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

I need a purpose …
Or do I really need a purpose?

No purpose?
No destination.
No destination?
No structure.
No structure?
And then
I am told
Life is not worth the living.

And to live
I need rules,
Rules to live by.
My parents,my schools,
Both gave me rules;
Society, government,
Both give me rules
For I do need rules,
Rules to live by.

Religion gives me rules,
But so does superstition,
Wherein lies the difference?
For both rely on faith
On faith …
on Belief.

Belief …
or is it Credulity?

 

The Next Time

Photo by isa bulle on Pexels.com

The next time
will always be
the best time
Anticipation
feeds
breeds
on expectation

Tomorrow will be
better than Today
Yesterday’s
revitalised
successor,
Itself refurbished,
re-burnished.
with new hope

To travel hopefully
into an unknown world
of conjecture
and hypothesis
is to have faith
in uncertainty

 

And Optimism
is given to us
to make the future
bearable

 

The Borderlands of POETRY – 5

PART THE FIFTH

 

Photo by John-Mark Smith on Pexels.com

Poetry As Religion

 

Poetry has become my religion
My faith lies in belief
Belief that my words convey my feelings
Express my thoughts
In a way that my actions are unable to do
And while I write
While I construct my idolatrous icons
I am worshipping at the altar of my muse
And offering penance for my frailties.

 

A GLIMPSE OF PARADISE

 

 

A GLIMPSE OF PARADISE

 

The back of midnight’s moon

Is gifted me

Bringing a still

And total beauty

In its light across the calm waters

The path to it calls me

And I know

With an unfamiliar certainty

My faith can bear me to it

To that paradise in the sky

Heaven’s haven

Realised in this

So delicate a moment

My life transmuted

Into one of peace and serenity

The death of life

Discovers

Meaningful rebirth

But even as I watch

The golden glow diminishes

   The pull of the pellucid path

Slowly fades behind the clouds

The chance is gone

For now

But I feel an assurance

That another day

It will be offered me again

And

with open arms

I will grasp it

Photographs:  WHB   ©

Collaborative poem – written by WHB, based on a prose description by Canadian artist, Alma Kerr, of an experience when looking, at evening time, across the waters of the Pacific, off the western coast of British Columbia . . .

Churchyard Blues– Five HAIKU

Haworth Churchyard, Yorkshire.  The Brontes are buried in a vault inside the church , except Anne who was buried at Scarborough.   Pen & Ink Sketch – WHB, 1983    ©

 

 

ACCEPTANCE:

Cradle of their births,
Shrouds for their future demise;
A place to belong. 

  

BELIEF:

To those with belief
Death does not come as an end;
With faith no one dies.

 

 HOPE:

Stay, hear, be silent;
Listen to the song thrush bring
Hope to the living

 

OPTIMISM:

Know, amongst these stones,
That life always precedes death;
Make the most of it.

 

 DOUBT:

If only God’s faith
Would strike my doubt ridden soul
I would die content.

Aysgarth Churchyard, Yorkshire – Pen & Ink Sketch – WHB, 1981   ©

 

Death Is An Unmapped Sea

Photo:  ‘On Chesil Beach’ by WHB – 2007   ©

 

Day dawns and life now reasserts its sway;
Sleep ends and dreams now slowly fade away,
Leaving behind the gains which I thought real.
Reality and the sun the truth reveal,
That time has shattered youth and brought old age.
Shall I depart midst over-arching rage,
Those aspirations which I held most dear,
Abandoned now as hope gives way to fear?
Now that I’m hurt, unheard and unfulfilled,
Can I refute those truths my life distilled,
And face what unmapped seas fate holds in store,
Without a faith to bear me to the shore?

 

We Mourn With MANCHESTER

William Morris/Burne-Jones …  ‘The Angel Of Sorrow’ – Stained Glass, Christchurch, Oxford

WE MOURN WITH MANCHESTER

So sad the sound
Of wailing
Searching
voices
Blooded by fate
Taut and tense
Exuding fear
Dread and anguish
In frantic response to
Vile and cowardly acts of
The deranged
Our response can only be
Love for life
For those distressed
And retribution
In whatever hereafter
For the perpetrators
Their hatred
Forever condemned

To Absent Friends

Newton-under-Roseberry Churchyard … Photo Collage – WHB Oct.2016

As the distended rollers break
Upon that ocean shore
I think of all the hearts that beat
But now will beat no more.

Friends who were once so close to me
Whose lives with me were one
Who now have lost their lust for life
Lost it, and have gone.

Sadness is no gift to sorrow
But memories linger on
It’s when I watch the ocean’s waves
It’s them I think upon.

Why this should be I do not know
For me there’s no release
It is the breathing of the waves
Confirms our own will cease.

Perhaps it is their constancy,
Their never ending thrust
Confirms our own ephemeral lives
Will end soon, as they must.

St. Magnus Cathedral, Kirkwall, Isles of Orkney

St.Magnus Cathedral, Kirlwall, Orkney Isles … Photo – WHB, 2010

 

 

 

The northernmost cathedral in the British Isles is dedicated to St. Magnus.  It holds a dominant position overlooking the Orkney capital of Kirkwall.   The building of this magnificent cathedral, was commenced in 1137 at a time when Orkney was ruled by the Vikings.  Masons who had helped build Durham Cathedral came north to build the magnificently stout Norman pillars and arches which remain today.  Originally under Norwegian jurisdiction, the cathedral became a possession of the people of Orkney, not of the church, following a decree of King James III of Scotland in 1486.

 

The building of the cathedral continued for approximately 300 years from 1137.  It is built largely of yellow and red sandstone.  It was dedicated to Magnus Erlendsson, Earl of Orkney who, as a result of greed and jealousy engendered by his cousin, Haakon, was  martyred on the island of Egilsay in 1117.   Magnus was later canonised and his remains brought to Kirkwall from Birsay and interred in a column of the cathedral now dedicated to him.

Map of Scotland – Orkney Isles & Kirkwall at the top

I publish below just a few of my photographs taken in the cathedral when I visited in 2010.  They are in the form of a slide show, the picture changing every few seconds.

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