Three Poems for The Time

Nowadays

All that is required
is wine poured out
to Caesar -
an affirmation
- none exempt -
that he is lord.

Here is the cup,
where is your hand?
(Your soul is still your own)
Give Caesar his
three words of honor
with your mouth,
a second’s motion
with your hand,
and go your way
in peace.
Refusal is dishonor
and a gory death.
Don’t be a
narrow-minded fool
It’s just good manners
Nowadays.

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The Flattened Bow

"And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be seen in the cloud: and I will remember my covenant, which is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall no more become a flood to destroy all flesh." - Genesis 9:14-15

A bow is much too
threatening
when it’s bent.
Take it down
and cut the string
Throw away
disturbing memories
of a God
who punishes and pardons.
His promises
of patience with the wicked
Are redolent of oppression,
archaic and offensive
to our realized selves.

Let’s break the bow
and keep the colors
for a flag
to celebrate ourselves.
We are the gods.
We are the selves.
We do the punishing and pardoning now,
and bear the fragments of the bow
of ancient covenant
with no thanks
for being spared
another deluge.

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Do Not Go Fragile

I owe the energy, language, and rhythm of this poem to Dylan Thomas’ famous poem, “Do Not Go Gentle”, which began to pulse in my brain and beg to be drummed out with different words. It is a call to those who feel the weight of the rising tide of cultural change to not be cowed by a sense of the inevitable, but to be courageously faithful in the midst of the darkness.

Do not go fragile into this loud night
Old truth must hold the torch at close of day
Burn, burn against the dying of the light

Wise men may see the end beyond our sight
of dawn above the tide of dark, and they
Do not go fragile into this loud night

Good men, the waves gone by, crying how bright
A faithful deed may shine above the bay
Burn, burn against the dying of the light

Free men, who watch and work while sun takes flight,
With grief grown bold observe departing day,
Do not go fragile into this loud night.

Grave men, whose eyes hold love of truth and right
Above the waves that rise to crush their prey,
Burn, burn against the dying of the light.

And you my brothers, thronged on that bare height,
Curse, bless this land with your fierce tears I pray.
Do not go fragile into this loud night.
Burn, burn against the dying of the light.

Diana or Christ?

Edwin Long (1829–1891)