Now I am puzzled.
See the world –
it was blood-red when I a child,
empirical, a dirty word –
more than a blush when that word’s heard,
tested, tried, gilt-edged in deed,
as now seems fitting to our age.
Beyond framed picture,
that’s laid as sample on the box,
triumphant whole till broken up –
as if the mending,
not the end
is the sole purpose of our rôle.
in finding soul between the poles,
the core of what it’s all about.
Of diverse, rainbow
of shapes that fit
when fixed aright,
of lumps, sharp corners,
straight and not
and such that nearly fit,
however forced, enthusiasts –
and is ‘en theos’ root of that,
claimed prompt of God?
In jumbled, juggled,
a pile of challenge to assort –
though fear lost pieces from the start,
and without peace it’s incomplete.
How did at first design emerge,
and was it planned so,
yet wielded jig
to saw apart?
A vision broken, then rebuilt,
using its origin as guide;
stand back awhile then break again
so others yet may try their art
and craft their part to save the world?
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, UK, from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including Poetry Potion.
His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com/