The Poet’s Sabbath
The Black Sabbath is dawning,
A rich table set in full splendour
The Lamb descends among the pale, trembling shapes
That thirst in the shadows for his precious blood.
The Lord has invited those deserving shadows
To feast with the living and share the supreme gift
He bestowed on them to dispense freely.
Unspeakable grace, unthinkable kindness
Given to test the living charity of poetry
Destined highest among the arts
To share the gift of salvation!
Yet who among the living
Can go down to the shadows unscathed
Save unlucky Orpheus, who for his bride
Braved the perilous waters of Hades.
Who among the living could
Sup with those who’ve gone before us
Save sly Odysseus who wished to know the future.
Who among the living would brave
The horrors of Hades to save a worthy soul
If not the poet, whose cross in life it is to carry
The burdens death piles on the living.
Who else could save those who
Stubborn, self-reliant, and rebellious
Have departed defying our Lord,
Innocent of every other sin
Save treacherous, burning pride,
Seduced by greatness, yet obeying His Holy Ghost
To carry out His purpose & design!
It is the sacred duty of living Kings and Bards
To unearth their innocence
And grant them clemency,
Complying with the crucified one
Even against their better reason!
During the rich and opulent Black Sabbath
The Lord calls the land of the unconscious
Created my him, circumcised in its heart
To birth every moment thereafter
That takes its suck from its lambent breast.
The Sacred Heart harvests His sheep among
The hungry, trembling shadows of Hades,
And taking the scales off the eyes of the poets
Gives them words to call the chosen,
Granting charitable hearts the vision
Odysseus in vain tried to steal.
The Black Sabbath is dawning,
This year amid fresh budding trees and flowers
One more beautiful than the next
One more promising than the other
Like tender lace and love epistles
Nestling like the youthful faces
Of a Paolo and his Francesca
A Lancelot and his Guinevere
Soon to shed their dead petals
Depose them to their tragic ends!
A day of budding innocence
Sprinkled with the blossoms of sin
Between the sorrows of the Crucifixion
And the fragile awakening of the Resurrection
The Black Sabbath, that High and Holy Saturday,
Looms with the fires of the inferno
Licking the heels of the unconfessed,
Those tender souls like the melancholy Virgil
The humble nameless bard of Daphnis and his Chloë
Along with the unrelenting bosom
Of our father who took the child
To the high mountain for sacrifice
Even the same that was touched by His holy foot
When He startled His servant sent
To teach us beauty, measure, and virtue
To gave us the Votive crown of kings
And promise all He calls redemption!
The Lamb gathers his own among the shades
Even the rebellious ones He gave us to recognize as our own
Extending unheard of grace
To all whose holy gifts were from Him:
The Bard of heavenly harmonies
And the gardener of splendid pastures for urban eyes
The skilled director of silver shadows
And the magnificent philosopher of heretical thoughts
That were no heresy at all but all from Him
It takes the pious soul of the divinely gifted poet
To see the goodness in these treasures
And call the gentle little ones to the Black Sabbath,
Become one with the Eucharist
Where the living and the dead
The kings and the poets
Sup their full on the precious blood together
Even on the table laid out with
The Lord’s harvest among the shades