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The Marble Angel

The marble angel stood upon a tomb
Erect and at attention, wings outspread,
His blank eyes watching through the growing gloom,
Like some mute sentry sent to guard the dead.

I saw him standing there, sublime and still,
While walking through the churchyard in the eve;
His features gilded by the sunset’s quill
Where shadows gathered and the day took leave.

The pale beams cast upon his noble form
Made all the carved folds of his stone robe flow
With streams of light too ghostly to be warm,
Which made him shine with strange, supernal glow.

I marked the angel’s odd similitude
To those under his tireless watchcare kept,
Those silent ones, a cold and lifeless brood,
Who through the years, beneath his feet had slept.

For he, like they, abiding in one place
Through snowy days and summers that would linger,
Had never heaved a sigh nor turned his face,
Nor bat a lid, nor twitched a little finger.

Observing him, and thinking of the host
Of dear departed ones interred below,
I thought of what men say when they are most
Assured this life is all that we can know.

I’ve heard men say, “The age of faith has gone;
For like the people planted in that field,
The ancient hopes have fled. . .but life moves on;
So creeds to cold reality must yield!’

“The old beliefs lie moldering in the ground,”
Men say, “and heaven, where the angels flew
Is empty now; their glorious choral sound
Is silent, since the former things are through.’

“The only angel one may hope to see
In this new age is one made out of stone,
Cold, lifeless, hard, and harmless as a flea,
Who stands forever moveless and alone.”

But musing there, a thought came to my mind
As I recalled another tomb I knew,
Whose mouth stood open, when no one could find
The one who’d slept there– not one night, but two.

That tomb speaks loudly to the doubting mind
And says, “Look round you, for all that you see
Is passing swift, and future days will find
All tombs wide open, when the shadows flee.”

Be not deceived! Though now no feather stirs
On his stone wings, nor does he blink an eye,
Yet soon, the dead will live! When that occurs,
Ten thousand winged ones will fill up the sky.

Descending with the Lord of heaven then,
In clouds of glory, bathed in flames of fire,
They’ll pull the tares out from the sons of men
And bind them for the day of holy ire.

Then turning to the faithful ones who wait
So patiently to see their coming Lord,
They’ll lead them by the hand through heaven’s gate
To greater joys than this earth can afford.

Then, all who reach that blesséd place of rest
After they’ve borne the hostile world’s derision,
Like Lazarus, who leaned on Abraham’s breast,
Will view with awe the beatific vision.

That angel is no symbol of a past
Now vanished, but a shade of what’s to come;
He keeps his vigil, silent, till at last
Faith turns to sight and scoffers are struck dumb.

Behold the empty tomb, therefore, and fear,
All you who think the claims of faith are vain!
For when Christ in His glory shall appear,
No shadow of His coming will remain.

.

.

The Cows by the River

I pause along the bridge and watch them pass,
The ranging cattle as they graze on grass,
As slowly, they proceed from blade to blade,
To eat the food that God has for them made.

With heads bowed to the ground, as if in prayer,
They feast, while on their noble forms I stare
And note the tranquil way in which they take
Their fill of what’s been fashioned for their sake.

They munch on clumps, then stop and take their rest
And flick their tails to swat each buzzing pest.
Some settle down upon the grassy ground,
While others moo, or simply look around.

Then, heedless to my presence, some draw nigh,
And gather on the bank, beneath the sky
Where crimson clouds, the sunset’s blushing daughters,
Drift past, reflected in the crystal waters.

The cows drink freely of that placid stream,
I gaze on them and think, “How calm they seem!
How free of care, as each new day they’re guided
To pastures green, with all their needs provided!

“Unthinking and unheeding, they ingest
Each day’s allotment, as these fields attest,
Sent by the One who pledges to provide
The needs of all who in His care confide.”

I see my own reflection then below,
And think of Him above me whom I know,
Who knew me long before the world’s foundation,
And swore to bring me to His new creation.

The heavens underneath me and above
Remind me of His all-encircling love,
Who guides me always with a watchful eye,
Sustains me with the hand that will supply

My every need according to His plan—
Who cares for cows, but loves this favored man!
So shall I fret and worry for my life,
Weighed down with cares and torn by senseless strife?

Recalling then my Savior’s faithful words
About the lilies and the little birds,
I stare into that stream at end of day,
And let its currents bear my cares away.

.

.

Martin Rizley grew up in Oklahoma and in Texas, and has served in pastoral ministry both in the United States and in Europe. He is currently serving as the pastor of a small evangelical church in the city of Málaga on the southern coast of Spain, where he lives with his wife and daughter. Martin has enjoyed writing and reading poetry as a hobby since his early youth.

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18 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Your powers of observation are mirrored by your powers of writing pleasing poetry. That power is amplified by the mellifluous rhyme and rhythm coupled with the wisdom encountered in the final verses.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Roy, I very much appreciate your words of appreciation. The fact you found the poems “pleasing” is very encouraging to me, and I love your use of the word “mellifluous” to describe the rhyme.

      Reply
  2. Gigi Ryan

    These are lovely to read. They beautifully depict the deep thoughts you are having as you observe what is around you and connect it to eternity.

    Reply
  3. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    Martin, these poems are lovely with some wonderful images. In “The Marble Angel” I particularly like, “His features gilded by the sunset’s quill.” I like the thought of sunset as an artist. I’m also drawn to, “He keeps his vigil, silent, till at last/Faith turns to sight and scoffers are struck dumb.” – what an encouraging thought in a world that is rife with scoffers.

    “The Cows by the River” puts me in mind of “Leisure” by W.H. Davies. I especially like your nod to the lilies of the field and the sparrows. Both poems are filled with hope, the sort of hope that rids us of present-day fears. Martin, thank you!

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Susan,
      Thank you so much for sharing your reflections. I am going to check out Auden´s poem. The immediate inspiration for “The Cows by the River” was an oil painting of a beautiful English landscape that I saw posted on Facebook. It is called “On the Thames Near Marlow” by a landscape artist named Henry Parker. I so loved the picture, I wanted to write a poem to go with it; you can see the painting at the following link: https://pixels.com/featured/on-the-thames-near-marlow-henry-parker.html

      Marlow is a special town for me, because it is the town where my wife and I became engaged. I had proposed to her earlier that afternoon in the gardens of Blenheim Palace, but instead of giving me an immediate answer, she waited until we ate dinner that evening at an Italian restaurant in Marlow to formally accept my proposal. What memories!

      Reply
  4. Cynthia Erlandson

    I love the imagery of lines like “His features gilded by the sunset’s quill”, “crimson clouds, the sunset’s blushing daughters”, and your description of the sunlight playing on the”carved folds of his stone robe.”

    Reply
  5. C.B. Anderson

    As always, Martin, your words flow like warm honey and make me wonder what it was like growing up in Oklahoma, near the banks of the Red River. Many rivers have you crossed, as well as many “T”s, and your tumbling coherent stanzas never fail to put me at ease. You call it a hobby, but it looks more like a calling.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, C.B.! Speaking of Oklahoma, I just finished a poem about the neighborhood in Tulsa where I spent my earliest years before my father´s company transferred us to Houston during the oil boom of the early sevenites– a nostalgic poem that I hope to make public soon. That was an idyllic period of time, and Tulsa an idyllic town in which to grow up. Those were the days when kids would play outside with their playmates, unsupervised, in the heat and sun all day long until dusk, instead of sitting before a computer screen playing video games and absorbed in social media. In my opinion, it was a healthier time in which to grow up, before all the woke craziness and cultural decay that we have seen in recent years.

      Reply
  6. Joseph S. Salemi

    The first poem is a mature and well-crafted reflection on the divine assurance that we have of a fleshly resurrection, and of final judgment. Past, present, and future are woven into the structure of the quatrains: in the poem’s start, the cemetery reminds of the past; in the middle, we hear the scoffing of disbelievers in the present time; and in the end we glimpse the future to come.

    “The Cows by the River” remind me of a thought expressed by a monk shepherding a small flock of sheep. He said “See how these simple animals are totally focused on what they are doing right now, here, at this moment! How different from us humans, with our brains in a fevered racing all the time, planning and worrying and fretting!”

    That also seems to be the attitude of the speaker here, who comes to see God as the Pastor Whose care and concern bring us peace.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, Dr. Salemi, for your structural analysis of the two poems. I don´t know if I thought consciously when writing the first poem about its natural division into three distinct sections dealing with past, present and future realties. I also like the way you summarize the central idea of the second poem, which alludes at the end to Jesus´ teaching on the sparrows and lilies in the Sermon on the Mount.

      Reply
  7. Yael

    Both poems are very enjoyable to read, with The Marble Angel being my favorite one of the two. Thank you for enhancing my evening email checking session with your lovely poetry.

    Reply
  8. Margaret Coats

    A stone angel is indeed “a shade of what’s to come.” Good contrast of stone and shade in this explanation, Martin. The interpretive next-to-last stanza settles thought neatly before proceeding to Christ’s empty tomb in the last, to expand developed ideas unto eternal glory with no shadows. Fine technique well worded to provide easy satisfaction to the believer.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, so much, Margaret, for your very observant analysis of “The Marble Angel”. I find it amazing how thoughtful feedback from a fellow poet can help one see one´s own writing through other eyes, which is really helpful.

      Reply
  9. Morrison Handley-Schachler

    I like these two very carefully written and optimistic poems, Martin, with the use of fine visual detail building to the main message. The first section of The Marble Angel has some shades of Thomas Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, although the poem progresses very differently.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      It has been a while since I read Gray´s Elegy; I will check it out again. It seems that in every generation, churchyards inspire poetry, since they are places in which seemingly irreconilable elements are brought together. In a churchyard, we are reminded of the ugliness of death in a setting marked by the beauty of monuments, trees and cultivated grounds; there, too, an atmosphere of quietness and tranquility mingles with sober feelings of grief and sadness in the face of human mortality (which for the Christian, is mingled with a sense peace in the hope of resurrection).

      Reply

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