Hound of Heaven Hymns - Sonnets and other closed forms

Leaves ~ a cyclical sonnet written in autumn

The canopy of leaves is branched above,
They bud so slow so fresh in vernal green
To shoot like fingers in a glove
And form the panoply of glory seen.
Through wind and rain and sun of summer days
They make a tree alive for coming years;
Then comes an end with glowing autumn blaze:
Their work is done, their beauty falls like tears.
This yearly cycle teaches us new truths:
Our days, like leaves, are short but beauty filled
Because we’re loved by power which nothing proves
Save life is all when death has all life killed.
The leaves of life might skitter at our feet
But they’re a sign that dashes bleak defeat.

(written in Côte Brasserie, Covent Garden, before a performance of Parsifal and dedicated to Sayed, the kindest of waiters)

The eye of the needle ~ a sonnet

The heavy laden camel is too wide –
The narrow alley’s fit for just a beast.
Logistics cannot cope with physics pride
In making most of all we want the least.
To thread a needle takes a steady hand,
An eye needs eyes that lock the gaze to sew:
There is no deal or bargain here to land –
Truth must change us if we want to grow.
This makes a problem when we find we’re rich,
We’re judged already by the things we own;
Possessions cause us all to drop the stitch
That makes us poor for ever and alone.
The eye’s true sight is found within each soul:
In poorest freedom find we richest goal.

Sonnet of sacrifice ~ 1

The word we use slips quickly off the tongue
For sacrifice is safe with costed price.
This risk is well but nought – no heart is wrung –
True blood is spilt in choice and roll of dice.
Our worlds collapse when faced with death’s true toll;
Our lives are never truly ours alone,
Much more unknown must change our human goal
Oft hid in loss and pain, each silent groan.
Thus disappointment is a blessing true
To switch our gaze and thoughts towards a light
That only shines when self to others flew –
And makes a vision bright in darkest night.
Now sacrifice brings life whate’er the cost
And brings abundant gain when all is lost.

Written on the train to see the Anish Kapoor exhibition in London

A sonnet for the over engineered

The world is full of nuts and bolts unseen:
They’re made by us like bricks to build our power,
Not welded but entwined, a mean machine
To join and hold by screw through every hour.
They’re strong and last much longer than our days,
They also blind us to the way ahead
That lies beyond the narrow selfish gaze,
The world we build and prize until we’re dead.
But life surprises – holy love doth call
In body’s beauty warming mind and heart
To sigh with spirit’s breath in raptured thrall
When every soul awakens with a start.
The engineering self is doomed to fall,
Love’s realm is truly ours when found in all.

A sonnet of stasis

The world’s so different when we stop awhile,
Our days in motion set a pace of haste.
It’s only when we halt or sit, we smile,
And many people feel in life we’re chased.
This pace is set by deadlines we must meet
And then all else must scramble on aboard;
Life hurtles on – each day will ne’er repeat,
So spent this life by price we can’t afford.
The pulse of life needs measure so we rest;
Such space gives fuller meaning for our souls –
A view and thoughts to challenge and to test
The health and purpose of our daily roles.
Beware the dust of a stampeding herd
Which blinds us all in mindless vision blurred.

(written on a train between London and Rochester late at night)

The Skein ~ a sonnet of war and peace

There is a skein that runs through life and time,
A hidden web set in this world of ours,
Though mostly hid, it’s writ in human crime.
Each self will lie – combine in evil’s powers –
It’s often hard to call, e’en harder own –
The way we work makes cover for a show.
Denying, frightened, all the hat that’s sown
Is formed anew in reimagined foe.
We’re set against each other yet we’re one
As creatures born to live a life of love.
There’s always hope – the daily rising sun
Tells of a power that comes from high above.
Lift up your eyes from selfish means and ways:
Let peace abound, redeeming earthly days.

(written on a train between Rochester and London)

Sonnet of sacrifice ~ 2

Walls of blood and lumps of entrails raw,
The invert mountain hanging close and low
Where God instructs a death in horror’s awe
Before the knife is stayed from father’s blow.
The call of sacrifice runs long and deep
To expiate the darkness facing all;
This blackness beckons – all time and matter reap –
Its presence real in holding us in thrall.
By contrast, light reflected changes every view and sight:
The sky below, the ground above our feet,
Our ordered world remade in visions bright
To challenge all as myst’ries cost we meet.
Short life is here displaced in wonder’s clue
This world is open to a view more true.

Written after a visit to the Anish Kapoor exhibition
at the Hayward Gallery

A sonnet of terms and conditions

We set our terms on everything we do,
Conditions seem to make us who we are.
All this makes safe, we think, our world where few
With power exploit all lives both near and far.
‘To gain and ne’er to lose at my expense’ –
We’re taught these jungle rules right from our birth;
My interests frame this self of mind and sense
As people live in fear of loss and dearth.
This globe is blessed by untamed weather’s bite:
Beneath the skies we face creator’s hand
So even clouds and storms bestow new sight –
Conditions, terms, are set by love’s new land.
Life’s ways and means are never truly ours
In mystery’s sweet unfathomable powers!

A Christmas Cantilena

(based on the chiastic structure of Pietru Caxaro's 'Cantilena' c. 1470 in Maltese)

Across the years a song has sung
Formed in our hearts from yearnings deep
For one to come – as hope has sprung –
That love will shepherd us like sheep.
Our searching, fighting, lying tongue
Cries out amidst the tears we weep.

Into our flesh comes the light
Present and clear in our sight
Babe in the straw from the height
Making our human night bright.

Dawn brings the day out of night
Wonder and truth bring love’s right
Challenging power and our might –
No more each other to fight.

As angels, magi, fade away
In passing years the story grows
But still we fail to stop the fray –
We change God’s song to human prose
But now today this love we pray
Our worldly fear and hate depose.

A sonnet defying Babel

(written on a train between London and Rochester)

This teeming world is full of many tongues
Whose meaning is unknown to me and you.
We live apart like steps or ladder rungs
Each needed for the climb to see the view
Of meaning spanning difference deep divide –
A bridge to make us strong in faith and hope
Where fear is conquered, no one’s life denied,
All held in space – no need for steel or rope.
Give voice and sing the joys of many ways
Whose value runs through all and weaves a web
So fine, a network of our lives and days
That time and tide is blest in flood and ebb.
Our neighbour speaks as blessing true and free
To make us one in greater mystery.

A sonnet of deception

(written on a train between Rochester and London)

Deceived, I think that much is in my reach –
Our human powers of mind and will are strong.
We build – and hold that truths we learn and teach
Are certain, ours, possessed and can’t be wrong.
We know the errors of our human past
But now have learnt there’s more for us to be
If we invest in self this world will last
Enough to give us pleasure full and free.
That’s what we think we want but is it wise? –
A free for all with nothing out of bounds
So progress feeds our pride and blinds our eyes
To worlds unknown where love’s sweet music sounds.
The world I know is never mine – and dies
Yet love is more – and for this each soul sighs.

70 ~ a sonnet of years

(written on a train returning from London)

Three score and ten has such a number’s power
As one to reach or pass in human years –
And when it comes it matters not the hour:
It’s just a moment filled with cares and fears.
Fulfilment lies beyond a sum of time,
Each second blest and precious on the way,
Where love’s sweet music’s notes with self can chime
And change the dross and labours of each day.
There’s more to say for life is judged anew
And fame and chance with wealth is put in place
As backcloth to the stage with heavenly cue –
For all of us to walk with promised grace.
The life we have is more than flesh and blood –
We’re born for glory borne on endless flood.

A sonnet of sight

(written on a train returning from the National Gallery Siena exhibition)

Where does the artist’s world begin or end?
Are limits sweet or obstacles to break?
Compulsion is creative spirit’s friend,
Possessed by power whose strength all frailties shake.
The empty space must beckon us to mark
And make a world which none of us can know
Where darkness shines as bright as any spark,
Familiar forms now radiate and glow.
But none of this can happen on its own –
We all must empty self with open soul
To risk our pride in avenues unknown.
Creator lover gifts to us a role –
To be the sign of all that is to be
That through fresh eyes we all may come to see.

Overleaf ~ a sonnet of surprise

(written on a train to London)

Each one of us is curled within a leaf:
We see with eyes much greened by nature’s self
And yearn for so much more than mortal’s brief.
We search and sing to write on future’s shelf,
Amassing wealth and knowledge on the way.
Some gain a stature overbrimming death,
With reputation famed e’en to this day.
What is the truth and nature of this breath?
We first must breathe a risk beyond the air
And lose ourselves whate’er the cost may be –
Yet find a spirit’s meaning, fresh and fair,
Our leaf bound self and world could never see.
Let’s rise and dance, dive off the leaf we own,
Into the joys of everything unknown.

A villanelle of promise

A poem especially for those outside the Church
and those who feel banished or abused

There is a voice that speaks to every care –
It’s heard in storm and calm when hearts do burn:
We’re loved beyond what matter’s form can bear.

Sweet music sings to all in freedom’s air
Despite the pains and doubts of daily churn:
There is a voice that speaks to every care.

Each day and moment offers us to dare,
To risk and lose ourselves, to change and learn,
We’re loved beyond what matter’s form can bear.

How certain seems the world of glamour’s stare,
It’s hard to look away and from it turn;
There is a voice that speaks to every care.

Love’s spirit meets us in our breath as prayer –
In presence held, a gift we do not earn;
We’re loved beyond what matter’s form can bear.

Life’s meaning seems so rich and rare
Yet lies in all our hearts and lives that yearn:
There is a voice that speaks to every care,
We’re loved beyond what matter’s form can bear.

chronophage

a sextet for Holy Week
(the form is based on John Dowland’s
setting of the Anon Time stands still)

Can one week bring death’s untimely end?
We all must die yet love eats time in one who comes as friend:
To take each hand, enlighten mind and fearful heart –
For his journey through these days takes each and every part.
Time eats us up as dust but now is eaten up in turn:
Love’s final days of mortal life with timeless glory burn.

Yet this truth is hid in every age,
Our hopes and powers write selfish stories on our history’s page.
The foal and palms lead on to scorn and howling crowd.
Can I deny my fear of pain and death’s thin shroud?
We cannot bear the shrieking hurt of nails and parching thirst –
He did – for us – time’s death is changed, and every tomb is burst!

A cavatina of release

Another rail trip – to the Proms – another poem

There is a pain that never leaves this world –
An endless blaze.
It runs through every life and levels all
Yet dogs our days –
And burns so hot and smoulders long and deep
In every phase.
There seems no point nor respite from its sting –
As on it plays.
Its game is up when time and space do end
As love’s true bliss takes each of us as friend.

A cavatina of music's power

On the train home from Mahler’s 3rd

Are music and the mind the same, ‘in tune’?
The soul says no!
The notes are heard in time yet evermore
Their echoes flow
Enriching every age on timeless shore
Where love doth grow.
The beauty of the heart and mind and soul
Sing sweet and low:
This music makes us one in mystery’s power –
All thoughts released from limit’s self and hour.

A sonnet of one direction

Can this be true – that life is but one way –
A start to finish line quite clean and bare
In stark succession set – like night to day?
For that’s the way it seems to mind and care:
We build our lives and set our clocks to form
The irreversible and destined path –
Our bodies frail and finite to death’s storm
Which breaks upon us like avenging wrath.
There is another view where sums add up
To make a different total of our lives
Including death’s strange call to drink and sup
Beyond, behind, within the myst’ries hives.
These hum and swarm with spirit’s life that sees
All lives and loves and loss as ever bees.

A Christmas sonnet of decision

If God indwells with us in every way.
The seraph’s song, the star we all can see,
Here’s yet a mystery set in human clay,
A life – and death – that calls us more to be.
His birth we feast and dance to every year –
Much less his death and new life prize and blaze.
Perhaps the cost and pain of love so clear
Involving risk and faith in this world’s days
Makes every question bring us down to earth
To seek a sure and certain world to grasp
Unchallenged by the starlit stable birth –
Whose life goes on beyond his final gasp:
Each soul must choose the way of life or death
And live eternal truth in every breath.

A cavatina of mercy

In every age our human hearts do burn
With vengeful ire.
The flames of hate arise from shame and fear –
Destructive fire!
We lose control and sense of others’ needs
In situ dire;
The scars of war maim every life on earth,
A funeral pyre.
Sweet mercy come to us from heav’n above
And fill our broken lives with healing love.

A kyrielle for peace

Our hearts are battlegrounds within
With minds set firm on self and sin;
Love opens up its treasure store:
Teach us the ways to end all war.

The untold loss, ne’er to be known,
No names in letters set in stone,
Cries out in hope to make us more:
Teach us the ways to end all war.

There is no plan, just simple care,
To honour others and to share
Our lives and world – in love outpour:
Teach us the ways to end all war.

The secret miracle of life:
Forgiveness heals and ends our strife.
It remakes lives, shuts hatred’s door:
Teach us the ways to end all war.

There comes a time when all must choose
The path to walk so none should lose,
That justice, mercy, truth, can soar:
Teach us the ways to end all war.

Sweet peace is that for which we’re made –
Through trust and kindness unafraid.
This earth can touch another shore:
Teach us the ways to end all war.

A sonnet for Lent

Our way is always strewn with rocks and stones –
We sometimes see the path with carefree ease
Ignoring others, deaf to suffering’s groans.
The world cannot be read ourselves to please,
Each day has cares we must embrace aright
And recognise our powers to use for good.
For human living is both gift and plight:
So sharing love involves the phrase ‘I should’;
By taking up the cross of saviour’s way
We’re ne’er alone and part of heaven’s bliss.
The barren land is where we’re led to pray
And find the bridge of joy o’er death’s abyss.
The wilderness is real and brings to sight
Our world and lives remade by truth and light.

A sonnet that sings

What story does the music weave this night
When senses stilled by dark and velvet black
Caressed by sound evoking inner sight
And set to run in mystic visions’ track?
A cloak of wonder, worthless to a world
That sets a price on human life and breath,
Descends and settles like a cloth unfurled
To take us to a realm beyond our death.
This journey strange is made and seen in dreams
When rest is active in imagined ways
Our fears are faced from deep remembered streams
Drowned by the cares of pressured urgent days.
This music sings us from our selfish cage
Into the freedom flown from flesh and age.