Saturday, October 17, 2009


Here are some poems from my Canticle of the Sun project. The first, Brother October, is in memory of my brother, Justin Warfield (5/25/89-10/17/07). The second, Luther to Ancient and Beautiful Rome Came or The City of God is inspired by Luther's journey to Rome, which inspired him to write the "95 Theses."

Brother October

Mother earth, sister sky
Brother October with your falling leaves and silent birds
night of the eagle’s eye

the frost that kisses the grass so lightly
the quiet ambient noise of wind passing
through the solid trunks of the giant sturdy trees
dressed in vibrant colors or some naked without their leaves

gentle snowfall and the burning smell of leaf and fire
red and orange and yellow
golds and silvers
oh October, where have you gone?

I want your confident voice back
the music that only autumn provides

a frosty warmth,
wild and fancy free, spirited hellos and farewells and
the wind pulls the leaves into cartwheels on the earthen floor
no more.

Instead, Jupiter winter, you give no consolation
no warmth or tender touch
hyper bright snow reflecting glaring sun
barren ashy desert of snow

serene and gentle, perhaps
but cruel and bitter, too
Bleak: snow on snow, snow on snow

oh Brother October, where have you gone?

Luther a bellissima e antica Roma e' andato or de civitate Dei

Carried on the back of a horse
the texture, the movement the slight of hand
to the city of God

in each hand you hold the truth
of each and every day
countless backs upon them whipped
and broken down and hurt inside
and that’s the way it goes

into this earthen mess
the snow flies up from ground
into sky to swirl free
before being cast abroad

and here that mess and mixture brings
a heart of toiled pain
a movement in your deepest guts
compassion to set free

and with the winds the earth does shake
and loose it’s slumbered hands
upon the shoulders of Atlas great
the sky does sit to stand

the trees too sway and bend and bow
in a fervent dance
beneath the sun and moon and sky
and saints and sinners both

a sound of trumpet sounding out
the city of God appears
the world opens up to show
its broken heart emerge

in this city a castle’s built
from the blood and sweat of all
the broken backs of countless ones
who under soil lie

take a look at the dirt its rusty color
and taste the earthen soil
it tastes like blood and iron too
and hooven shapes do form

don’t forget the lyre song
its sweet harmonies
they tell the tales of prophets fierce
forgotten with the time

let the spire of this full tow’r
upon your backs to break
the truth will come at last to free
and lay these chains to rest.


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