Ceiling Painting from Melk Abbey by Paul Troger and Gaetano Fanti‘The Journey Home’ and Other Poetry by C.B. Anderson The Society November 10, 2019 Beauty, Culture, Poetry 13 Comments The Journey Home Enwrapped in flesh we come to earth, Created in our Maker’s image, Where from the moment of our birth We’re parties to a mortal scrimmage. Just where the days ahead will find us Remains a shrouded mystery, But voices in the night remind us, Despite our checkered history, That places long ago prepared Await the pilgrims who’ve departed: Accommodations from the Laird Who rules the homeland whence we started. Laird: Scottish word for lord. Unclaimed Inheritance There’s never been a time when we believed The wisdom of the Scripture we’d received From unimpeachable authentic sources. Our tendency to navigate new courses Prevented that, and what we left behind Was soon summarily put out of mind. Our brash iconoclastic heresies Dismissed the worthiness of pedigrees, For we would rather swim an extra mile Than new and older values reconcile. Though we’re still unconvinced that we have sinned, Our driftwood souls are blowing in the wind. The Last Garden The world the Lord has made unfolds in spring, With rising Life in all that we discern. The flowers bloom and birds begin to sing, A thousand wonderful events we learn To think of as a private chiliasm. But we get used to it, as is our wont, This Glory here below revealed, the chasm ‘Tween humdrum praxis and the Holy Font Grown deeper than the gulf of Right from Wrong. Deprived of nurture from our daily prayers, No longer can we sing the righteous song That slays infernal demons in their lairs. We weed and push our mowers, whereupon We hope that this is not the Eschaton. Eschaton: the final days of human existence in God’s kingdom prior to the end of the world in Christian theology. first published in The Anglican Theological Review C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India. His collection, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder was published in 2013 by White Violet Press. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 13 Responses Joe Tessitore November 10, 2019 The moment before I opened this I was thinking of my own demise in terms of “going home” – a ‘wow’ moment for me if there ever was one! Haven’t even read the others yet but will be on them shortly, along with my second cup of coffee. Reply Joe Tessitore November 10, 2019 This is wonderful Sunday morning poetry, C.B. Two of your closing couplets stand out for me: Though we’re unconvinced that we have sinned, Our driftwood souls are blowing in the wind. and We weed and push our mowers, whereupon We hope that this is not the Escahton. I had to look up ‘Eschaton’ along with ‘chiliasm’ and am glad I did. I have to admit that ‘scrimmage’ threw me, probably because of my knee-jerk association of it with a practice football game, and thought it was too casual to go with the rest of your poem. On re-reading it, I’m thinking now that that’s actually what you intended – life here on earth as a ‘practice’ for what’s to come. Reply C.B. Anderson November 10, 2019 Joe, “practice” works, but what I had in mind was “a rough-and-tumble struggle.” “Scrimmage” comes from the obsolete word “scrimish,” which is an alteration of “skirmish.” Monty November 11, 2019 . . which is why, in Rugby Union, we have the ‘scrum’; from ‘scrummage’. T.M. November 10, 2019 These are fine and welcome sentiments, beautifully crafted, and delightful to read. But, do I sense in that reference to the drudgery of mowing a longing for fall? Reply C.B. Anderson November 10, 2019 T.M., Ha-ha. I get the reference, but in truth, fall has it’s own unique set of chores, and I am in the middle of them right now. Namely, raking leaves and cutting back perennials. I don’t want to do that for a thousand years either. Reply Joseph S. Salemi November 10, 2019 All three poems are beautiful, but also very sobering and disquieting. One thing about the use of “Laird” in the first poem to pick up the rhyme with “prepared” — this is the kind of sophisticated and masterly choice that a highly skilled poet will make. And it is the sort of diction choice that will be reflexively attacked and denigrated at the typical poetry workshop as “not acceptable.” Reply C.B. Anderson November 10, 2019 Joseph, Sometimes I just feel lucky that right word is available and happens to come to mind. The English vocabulary is enormous, so it’s usually the case that a word that meets the requirements is there at hand for the taking. Reply David Watt November 10, 2019 Each of these poems provide cause for reflection on faith, life, and our place in the scheme of things. I concur with Joe’s opinion that ‘Our driftwood souls are blowing in the wind’ is an especially memorable line. Reply C.B. Anderson November 10, 2019 David, None of my poems really involve deep theology, but rather simply the existential circumstances of our lives where, as you say, we are bound to reflect on faith and life. Reply Monty November 11, 2019 Delectable, CB. Even for one such as myself – who couldn’t be any further removed from the subject-matter of all three pieces – it was a pleasure to read such accomplished work. And how easy they read, too . . the words just roll off the tongue with the same ease in which your lines roll into each other. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant November 12, 2019 Smooth, thought provoking and satisfying. Thank you. Reply Monty November 13, 2019 Yeah, ‘smooth’ is the word. Reply Leave a Reply to Joe Tessitore Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.