|Yew trees from the UK - "google images"|
A Yellow Flower, Pressed
Praise the Oh Lord...
like mist evaporates, I skirt away,
hymnal discarded, chants faintly heard
as I race beneath bowing Yews, until
I see you through the panes
God of Mercy,
I sigh, your image magnificent,
fills the Great Hall, makes it look small.
I hear you laugh - contagious, I smile,
spy your hand upon hounds head -
recall last night's caress beneath
watchful bishop's painted gaze.
Oh Taste and See,
you pluck a grape, teeth graze its skin,
lick, lean back upon heavy mantel,
eyes wander toward hearth's rug
and I know you recall.
Ask of Me,
not much, for brave I will
another moonless night for echoes
to reverberate in this vast room,
promises captured, muffled by red velvet,
dawn's soft pastel light befalling
a sight of limbs and hair co-mingling.
God of Grace,
we prayed for courage, for victory
beneath arches, hands clasped,
my eyes drawn to not bible held,
but flickering candlelight along your jaw.
Plead for another night before you depart.
will recite, will cherish my knight's
yellow flower placed between breasts
now pressed within prayerbook,
finally able to pray, for
Blessed is the Man.
by Margaret Bednar, September 27, 2013
|Image found HERE|
This was originally written in September of 2013 and I apologize for not posting an original poem for this challenge for "dVerse - Poetics - time to get a little medieval"
I tried to take things from the room - the bible, the flowers, the candles and also the setting and use if for this piece. Go and take a look , give it a try! The image of the room is a miniature on display at the Art Institute of Chicago.