Sunday, December 12, 2010

An apostate's creed

When I was spongy
soft and daisy yellow, my father poured
forth with piety his cleansing love
for god and country, and he poured
it into poor little porous me.

It was a sop I tried to hold
but just as gold wings go
and clay feet come,
so my faith in blindness was replaced
by a bookish seeking.

The small wrings and smaller
squeezes of his uneven hands
told me god wasn’t 'man enough,
and any bounded place was too cramped
a space for my odd inklings.

Then I found this upon the further
side of knowing: Nature lives and dies not
in our world alone,
but there’s a universe to breed
and spoil with my loving’s expansion.

It’s always cycling...
cycling before me...
cycling through me...
cycling past me...
cycling in spite of me.

Ever never blinks
and no quill’s ink tallies
those woes and wants
played out on the twinkling
stage of our weakling moments.

Outside the familiar
rhythms of my childish loves,
I’m left
pledging to do no heavenly harm
as I spread wide these arms
so inadequate for embracing the vast
elliptical clouds of intermingling
light and dust,
and in flying I’ll fall toward
but not reach
the core of my sunny belief.


Kay Tracy said...

It's been so long since I've had the pleasure of reading my blog list. I truly enjoy your use of words, Francis. Not only do they have rhyme and rhythm, but the meaning within them is so intricately woven.

Faith is deeply imbedded and then we reach the age of deep questioning. I don't know if I'm an apostate, my faith is hard to shake, but the questions shape it, I guess. Maybe I'm wishwashed.

I really like: "Ever never blinks." I like that whole stanza.

Take care, Kay

Francis Scudellari said...

Thanks Kay. I tried to keep up with all the different blogs I follow via Google Reader, which helps. I consider myself an apostate when it comes to the religion I was brought up in, but I can't say I've forsworn all faith, in fact what I'm grappling with in this poem is the possibility for a much broader faith. I really love the idea of being "wishwashed" ... I may have to steal it for a future poem.

goatman said...

Growth, learning, losing the past, and new belief collect on many of us.
For me it was a natural falling away from the common belief, the crowd, and developing what felt comfortable and was able to be support when needed.

We are all one is what I found -- but that could change!!

Kay Tracy said...

Steal away!