The Scarlet Letter
Volume III, Number 2 | December
(With apologies to the Master)
Jim Bob Swinburne
They were born to ships of light.
The night was myth, they knew it not.
Their days were harshly lined and bright,
Their ark their glyph; their every
And deed and word and hope directed
To the Infinite, each connected
To their boundless sun, yet protected
By watery basis and vegative rot.
From their midst came one who shone
With red eyes, and black cast gleaming
Blacker than any dark they's known.
With soot and pitch and asphalt streaming
Off her shoulders as she walked
Through their midst, she clearly shocked
Their sense of Right. They turned,
With fearful loathesome faces beaming:
"What daemon's child are you? To bring
Misfortune to this crew that sail
The Hair of Trees and Saturn's Ring,
The light of time, the Serpent's Tail?
'What ill-spent seed has come to rest
In this watery grave, who's existence
The very nature of existence, and bests
All gods patience, beyond the pale?"
"I am Shade, both of and from
Who bears within the seeds of bright
Which spin and hold and groweth new.
Each the legacy of Light
Enclosed in howling sheets of dark
Which hide the babe within the ark
That crieth Not! In silence mark
The forthbringing of fire and force and might.
You call me grave. It's true
Foreknowledge of death hoods my eyes;
But my cloak of blackness, great sea
Of your blindness, is a veil of lies.
We are in many ways of muck,
Born of water and oozing suck
Oh soon enough this shell we shuck!
I honor the body you despise!
Re-member all you have forgotten,
For there is hope and help therein.
flesh is love and is not rotten;
It is the vehicle wherein
Mayhap, you aspire
Once known. You'll inscribe your story
In the starry record, for
Share the love of that tale so frail and thin."
They parted ranks to let her pass,
They built the bed on which she lay.
bore her seed on clean sea grass
And from the Night there came the Day.
was of both worlds in that hour:
Every brother touched the dark flower
cleaved to light.
The sword in the stone
the story of Perceval
one must pass rightly
but in full consciousness
in full consciousness
of the process and the journey
the first step that
leads to the last breath
so that when we lay bleeding
is not in disbelief
but in grace
by Sr. Bastien
From the tree base
a cry emerged,
he bowed to listen,
I still regret...
cried like a baby,
abandoned and frail.
It asked him:
"Do you love me?"
He turned to me
as if in depair...
Beware! I told him
love me?" it said
He answered aye,
I said nay.
It hissed at me,
as my companion
ever so graceful
bent to caress
the face of Sebat.
to Vol. III, No. 2 main page