#cathedrals
by s.mckeown
Above her soars the limestone web,
spun by Mason's sweat and blood.
the lattice weave, the hem of God,
a sacred knit of glass and lead.
Across the floor, the bin wheels squeak,
She genuflects with brush in hand.
Her callous knees in service bent,
she scrubs across the hallowed span.
Below her brush the nobles lay,
Asleep beneath the sword and mail.
They’re whispered query “What’s thy name?”
Her answer: “Your lady with a mop and pail”.
They feel her hands across their names,
Her brush across their titled crest.
Again the martyrs side by side,
are soothed again to calm and rest.
God might judge their bloodied past,
Or wake them to the wrath to come.
Until that time she’ll tend their sleep
Beneath the Abbey’s sky of stone.
Mar 25, 2024
Mar 25, 2024 at 6:56 PM UTC
I bleed in silence, in
Abandoned cathedrals,
Monasteries, and holy Shrines.
I have looked for you,
Begged the grand idols,
Visited crumbling walls
Of burnt out cities,
And antiquities -
All the places they told me
You had been.
My eyes see red
But I'm blue,
And there's a bruise
On my knee-
A blend of both.
My lips no longer move in prayers
My eyes have no tales to tell-
But my poems scream
And I live - on a middle ground
Between the two
-a whimper on nights,
A sad smile during days.
You're not coming for the rescue, are you?
I ache and long, now
More than I can love
But for what? Is it you?
I never could commit suicide,
But I killed myself, every moment,
nonetheless,
Till I heard the rhythm of that heavenly call
In your footsteps
And how you filled even the silences between us
With grace
And I was seen, and I could see
And I was loved with a love
That I could accept.
If our love had two colors,
It'd be red and blue
Like any God,
You came with your own set of rules.
Passionate red, that you brought
And the blues that I always carry
Red and blue icy veins -
With the same emotions flowing through.
But you were taken away too.
And now I'm neither red, nor blue
But despondent brown
The color of the dirt, the only thing
Separating me and you.
You're not coming back, are you?
I walk on,
I don't rest and I don't sleep.
How can there be a God if there's no justice?
And the moon is not blue with sadness;
Nor does it cry with me.
And the stars are just as oblivious and distant.
And the sun, well, it never bothered
to shine on any of us.
I see a world now, as it is,
Stripped of meaning
and all its metaphorical use.
If I could be colored,
I'd choose red and blue-
Burning bright
with a frigid determination.
To save the soul,
Sometimes you must
destroy its vessel
And when a world dies, its gods must die along.
None of you came, so I had to come to you.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 8:33 AM UTC
Granada is a town that holds quite well its very own,
With an unique culture blend that is difficult to disown,
There is the confluence of diverse religions,
Which frankly, is nothing short of legion
Christianity and Islam pervade all aspects of daily life,
In shops, monuments and restaurants with hardly any strife,
It always feels good to see such diversity,
All the more so when there is unmistakable unity
The up and down alleys are a countless maze,
That can leave visitors in a state of daze,
There is little possibility however of losing track,
Since there is rarely ever a cul-de-sac
Restaurants and street cafes are just about everywhere,
All one needs to know is how to get there,
The variety of cuisine is as diverse as it can be,
That one just needs to ask "what will it be"?
Flamenco performers strut their talent at the wayside,
With enthusiastic onlookers egging them on side by side,
The foot tapping rhythm is pure joy to listen,
Through hours of practice, drawn from inspiration within
Crowds gather at the square for a glimpse of the sunset view,
Grabbing vantage spots for the breathtaking view,
The endless clicking of photos is inevitable as it would seem,
For those who skip it, it would probably remain in their dreams
Ice creams and sorbets come in a multitude of flavors,
Making a choice is never without a waiver,
People of all ages love savoring the cool taste,
From morning till late night, there is rarely any haste
Driving through 15 feet narrow alleys would appear to require special skills,
Not so to the locals who probably deem it a routine daily drill,
Peugeots, Renaults, Skodas and Benz can all be seen at play,
Hey, this is Europe - hence there is little surprise at the wide array!
From Granada to Cordoba is the next lap of our travel,
Wonder what mystique it is likely to unravel,
Thus far it has been totally exhilarating,
So look forward to some more poetic commentating
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
Cordoba is home to the largest mosque in the world,
The Mezquita's architectural splendour is a stunning monument to behold,
It is a confluence of Jewish, Islamic and Christian trinity,
Whose influence through the ages will stretch to eternity
Swarming with tourists be it individuals or groups,
Who throng the roads through which they incessantly troop,
The multi-cultural mix is what makes the sight so appealing,
One cannot but experience the inescapable joyful feeling
As one saunters through the must- visit touristic Jewish Quarter,
The innumerable winding lanes and by-lanes really do not matter,
Rows and rows of shops have a wide range of offerings,
All that one needs to do is spend without bothering
It's a gourmet's delight at restaurants when it comes to variety,
One needs to go through the menu card in it's entirety,
The trick is to experiment with different types of food,
Hopping in and out of eateries makes you feel so good
The sweltering heat does little to dampen the enthusiasm,
People go about their work with no less dynamism,
The famed Spanish siesta can still be seen at play,
With shuttering of shops and offices just past mid-day
With tourism a major factor contributing to the economy,
It is important to underscore the need to live in harmony,
This trait among people is so blatantly on display,
An ingrained culture preserved till this very day
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC
As I embark on my bucket-list travels,
There is something I wish to unravel,
To see my skills at penning poetry,
Over which currently I have no mastery
My family kept goading me,
To shed my lethargy,
And make a beginning,
Which in hindsight, was a self- awakening
It was on a fine morning in sunny Spain,
That I decided to make some meaningful gains,
In penning my first few lines,
Without allowing my mind to work overtime
While walking down the streets of Seville,
You see people wanting to do what they will,
It's a wonderful feeling of being stress-free,
Which makes me think "is this what life is meant to be"?
The street restaurants are a gourmets' delight,
That's sheer heavenly bliss in every bite,
The menu variety is the joy of any epicurean,
And the task to choose makes it no less Herculean
Street cafes abound in no small measure,
With people flocking in droves to seek hedonistic pleasure,
The wining and dining carry on past midnight,
And makes you wonder whether the end is ever in sight
Beating the heat with a cool retreat,
Are ice creams and sorbets in an array of treats,
The flavors on display makes one spoilt for choice,
But once decided, it is a matter to rejoice
The popular flea market on Sundays,
Is a rarity not seen everyday,
Hawkers displaying their unique wares,
A sight not beholden everywhere
The ornamental antiques,
Embrace the mystique,
To the ardent art lovers' gazing eye,
There is so much stuff that money can buy
To the connoisseur philatelist,
There were no stamps that did not exist,
To the persevering numismatist,
The jingle of coins was a means to co-exist,
The rustle of currency, an erstwhile pleasure to the notaphilists,
Such a variety of notes no longer exists
Amazing to listen to the ceaseless chatter,
The noisy banter, little did it matter,
Price haggling was no laughing matter,
Achieving the end result was all that did matter
The Triana sector famous for its ceramic ware,
Artistic glazed tiles, pottery and curios discerned just about everywhere,
Such is the craftsmanship excelling in intricate designs,
The wide variety on display just blows away your mind
Meandering through streets and alleys was a pleasure,
Whilst enjoying the local traditions in no small measure,
The staccato Spanish chatter of passers by,
Was a joy to listen- an unique experience that money can't buy
The number of cathedrals was definitely aplenty,
Each with a history extending to posterity,
The majestic domes and sprawling structures,
Bore ample testimony to ancient and contemporary cultures
The numerous horse carriages sauntering on the cobblestone paths,
Were a sight to behold with their inimitable trot,
The tourists and locals alike beamed as they rode by,
Responding to the constant cheers of passers-by
As the day dawned on our leaving Seville,
It was more out of compulsion than our own free will,
That with a heavy heart we had to bid adieu,
Knowing fully well that such a feeling was not anew
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 1:39 PM UTC
i saw her face in the bricks
just like how i saw God in the streelights
her smile was in the flourish of the stone, chiseled from a mason's hand
her eyes reminded me of what i believe heaven to be like
her hair also, reminiscent of the woodwork along the sharp edges of the stained glass found in cathedrals
their spires like sharp teeth, kissing the cityscape with elegance and vengeance
making sure no one doubted their reach, higher than most and closer to heaven than many will ever get.
she's the closest to heaven i may ever get.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
On this side of the bridge,
Between time and eternity,
A foothill to the Necropolis,
Rises the cathedral.
The remains of St. Kentigern
Maintain it, the founding Father.
The spire tops the cruciform
Pointing the way to Glorify.
Within, walls are embedded
With plagues, standards and swords,
Praising foreign campaigns
And distant expeditions
Of long lost brave hearts.
Pilgrims stand silently;
Tourists nod quietly,
Pointing at remarkable achievements
Of Empire, and the young,
Beatified on distant lands.
The fading banners protest:
For this I gave my all, my best.
The stones are cold,
The windows stained:
In the crypt, St. Mungo lies,
The foundation of all
That died.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
you're probably the reason i wake up unable to breathe thinking there are snakes slithering around in my bed, because you did the exact same. i'll never find the words to tell you just the way you shattered my stained glass, i went to dozens of cathedrals to try and beg you to fix my mosaics and give me forgiveness, but not even the hierarchy could help me now. I went from Nortre Dame all the way to St. Paul's trying to find peace but no glass will ever be the same as mine maybe a pastiche but I will never feel as if I am as beautiful as the Troyes, so I walk around with ****** palms grasping to the remaining pieces I have from that night. I'm gasping for air now, in hysteria I'm flipping through the pages of a poor mans good book trying to find the terms for repentance or contrition or whatever it could be named, I'm not sure because I've never pleaded like this before and I'll scream to the all the gods that might listen, I'll be ****** if Im going to go down like this. I found another chapel he's got mosaics like no other has ever seen, I'm looking into angelic hues of browns and blues and greens. I'm running through the backrooms trying to find an exit, I'm in a rut to get to a comforting haven. don't waste your time on me I scream. Ive been cast out of heaven for my sins and I'm paying for my crimes -my rosary has fallen to the ground. it's just us two now; I want to run, the apocalypse inside of me is tearing me apart. I've had a martyr in my bed and I remember the taste of his lips, now I recall how your mouth resembled that of a serpent and how it tasted -of venom. you lied while your head was between my thighs, oh the stigmata of a dismal life. I've found a new savior and I am more than what you've dictated to everyone else. I've undergone apostasy and devouted myself to a new God, I might even wear white with him.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
“What is the end”
He said, “we die
Without sacrifice;
Catholicity is
The decay of cathedrals,
of movie houses..."
But these movies are a moral force,
Of Christ and cross
Poems penned in gold,
Words no good, words too old,
Stories, cut deep with a man with a knife,
There is no life in the stuff because it tries to be “like” life.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC