‘Our Daily Bread’ – Or Keeping Watch over ‘The Hours’

‘Our Daily Bread’ – Or Keeping Watch over ‘The Hours’

(i)

You give us this day

Our daily bread

At the morning hour.

Early morning scene –

Where’s a camera!

Fog ahead

From the night-time

Falls

Of rain.

A backdrop

Against a vista before us

Amber hues of a light

Blanketing thinly

A field of ryegrass,

Where a gangly foal

Followed its mother,

Their hides

Coated with the glistening

Yellow sheen of

The finalising dawn.

Our daily bread

Of beauty for

The breakfast hour.

(ii)

Our daily bread

Of an hour during the day.

A musician

Attuned to our people

Asks the question:

“Could you not

take communion down

to Hetty and Bart?

He looks

Wobbly

You know!”

And wobbly

He was

As he came forward,

Bandy legs

Like shuffling pins

A slow

Deliberate

Swaying swing.

When asked after

I was taken in

By the deep pools,

Blue as fathoms of sea,

Of his old eyes

Above a faint white wisp

Of whiskers

Dotted on his pink skin.

A visage, I think,

I really truly saw

For the first time.

“I want to still walk

up while I can.”

His polite and firm

Smile in word and picture

Clearly expressed

A residue of pride

In a body intent

Also on aging.

Oh, that face!

The courage

In his faltering steps.

Greek tragedy

Knew not

The magnitude

Of his great

Journey

Shuffling up a aisle.

Our daily bread

Of fortitude and

Faithfulness

At hours during the day.

(iii)

Our daily bread

In the hours of the afternoon.

A young husband

Shops,

Weaving among the

Rows of fruit and vege

Bordered

Not in garden beds or pots

But displays

Under strategically designed

Supermarket lights,

While his wife

Full of the promise

That late pregnancy

Pronounces

Waits for her

knight’s return

for them to resume

their long road trip

o’er the mountains

and down,

down,

towards the sea

where waves may

wash away

the dust

of their weariness.

Our daily bread

Of com-passion –

suffering with –

in the mid afternoon

hours of heat

with a long journey to go.

You give us this day

A feast

Of wonder and

Practical virtue

Among the people

And hours

Of

‘our day’.

Simon C.J. Falk 18 October 2015

In recent days, one of the finest blogs I have the privilege of reading, ‘The Bookshelf of Emily J‘, published a post on the people in your neighbourhood.  Please check it out as it is a beautiful post about the goodness in ordinary places like the places we each live in.  The poem in this post of mine is a response to Emily’s fine post.  Names have been changed.  It uses examples to draw on the Christian ‘Lord’s Prayer’ (also known as the ‘Our Father’) and the old Christian custom of remembering to keep the hours of the day in praise and prayer.

Heaney’s ‘The Forge’ and Barellan’s Good Old Times Festival

Heaney’s ‘The Forge’ and Barellan’s Good Old Times Festival

IMG_0296

This blog is usually for words composed by me, which, may resemble something vaguely like poetry.  Having attended Barellan’s ‘Good Old Times Festival‘ yesterday, and having seen a blacksmith at his forge, I was delighted to come upon the late Seamus Heaney’s poem of the same name.  Thanks to Genius for providing an online text for us.  More information can be found on Seamus Heaney on his page at the Poetry Foundation.

A Throwback Thursday – Non Cosmetic Narcissist

A Throwback Thursday – Non Cosmetic Narcissist

I was going back over some old poems and found this one.  So, here is a cynical and satirical throwback.

Non Cosmetic Narcissist

Mirror, mirror, on the wall!

I see my pate bald and all!

The countenance upon my face,

Is there without cosmetic trace.

No adornments, botox or goo,

Just me looking out at you!

Mirror, mirror, in others’ eyes

Help me not to live from lies.

But by the way that I am made,

Presented to all by nature’s grade.

Simon C.J.Falk 5 October 2010