© Richard Vallance, 1998 &1999
Luke 2:46: "After three days they found him
in the temple... asking them questions."
Heavens! There's some aria about
this face! Consummate fire
crosses his brow. Lord, is there any
more eminent place he could retire?
"But, but, but..." you stammer.
"He is merely a child!" who speaks
in waves of wonders, signing Life
all over the temple's peaks.
Ah! But walls must tumble down!
But columns of marble explode
in their passionate desire
to see Jerusalem's gates unfold.
Is He merely a child, a Mother's little boy?
He is the Psalms Prophetics deploy.
When, Frail in Times of Sparse Relief
Iqaluit, Baffin Island, Canada, June 21st.
When, frail in times of sparse relief
the soul lies down and weighs its hours low
and drifts on ice in a Winter's leave of grief,
where frosts are as glum as Tundra's gauzy snow,
there's a rap in winds, as one just happens by,
who listens, and all ears, my Friend, as a wind's,
responds to a heart's half-starved Midnight's cry,
whose hands all shivers dawn on speechless shores -
Tonight's the season why too many days rescind
their Arctic sins, and the selfless sun casts itself on floes.
What hour's upon us now if the sunrise comes & thrills
for 23 hours over your village's bay, and cormorants' rills?
Yes, listen as where? - where's the pall as last mournings fall.
Then, watch to the west, and hear! It's our spare Artic's call.
Still Breathes
© 1970, 2001 Richard Vallance
For Douglas Hueller (Schroeder)
Still breathes what's? who's this? - a spinner's
spirit shines upon the world? Or it's us as if
it's breaths & still where what's rarest breezes
swirl in on in from where, summervales, our hearts
must spell it out! Look! Who opens wide
what's rain's casements to our eyes, unsnaps
shutters, ours, once so flatly latched, and as if
it, it's clarions, ruffles us up, and it airs
airs on sheers where flecks, our lightning's woes
all dapples, wings on flairs, take
what's flight, where fair Monarchs, whose images
in films, flit from lilies in what's this? Valleys!
- and with all of this, leaves our children smiles
all in a morning's mourning swept-off leaves!
A B C D E
An infantile's pastiche
© Richard Vallance
In Memoriam my Uncle Howard [1906-2001]
* * *
A
If her lullaby
has lulled her child who's slept deep
what's death's cause why weep?
* * *
B
Why see no reason
Why not to have wept for years
on a child's veils tears?
* * *
C
A cappella a
chants in the chapelle ping on
columns' calicos.
* * *
D
Those who'd lost regrets
for infants past in graves found
their tears own as grave.
* * *
E
Or had we noticed
them pass away scarce with sounds
on these wary grounds?
