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A Painting
A painting hangs beside the door
The room is bright and just before
I turn to leave, I gaze once more
Upon the image of a tower
And contemplate the subtle power
It’s shape suggests and there’s a flower,
It’s growing near the tower’s base
And in the flower there’s a face
That’s turning toward the sun to trace
It’s flight across the morning sky.
I pause again and wonder why
The door’s ajar, I say goodbye.
A voice outside is calling me
And stepping out I start to see
The tower standing gracefully.
Above the trees I see a pair
Of doves fly by, the flower’s rare
Perfume completes the morning air.
Again I hear the voice and run
Across the field into the sun,
The flower opens, it is done.
Copyright 2009, Michael Fuchs
When
When all there was to do is done
And all there was to say is said,
When all the notes to play have spun
The tunes that shall in turn have fed
Our ears and our eyes have seen
The sights He gave us to behold,
Red roses blooming on a green
With thistles growing in between,
Then summer’s warmth to winter’s cold
Will yield and vanish with the song
We sang with voices loud and strong
When hopes were high and days were long
And life itself forever young.
Copyright 2009, Michael Fuchs
Snow
When her time comes, winter casting
Her bright shroud upon the mountains
Gently leads the land to fasting
And prepares life giving fountains
That will nourish and sustain us
Through the gruelling heat of summer.
Snow is for her beauty famous
And though mountains think they’ve won her
She’ll not stay long in abundance,
For the rivers and their valleys
Thirsting for her precious substance
Seek to sway her, yet she dallies
Till the sun reveals his glory
And the earth’s persuasive tugging
Bids her leave her lofty story.
We’ll no longer see her hugging
Mountains with maternal pleasure
Till again her season rises
Giving us her gift in measure
That is stored in autumn’s prizes;
Snow like grace reveals it’s treasure
To us in all shapes and sizes!
Snow is likened to the child
Who with winter’s wind returning
Settled on the earth and smiled.
Covering our world with silence,
He has come to heal and burning
Out the weeds of bold defiance
Took unto himself the harvest
Putting to an end all violence
And those victims hit the hardest
Walking down beside the current
Feared for life and laid their dirges
Down like wreathes into the torrent
That unbridled downstream surges
To an ever thirsty ocean
Where abandoned children waiting
For the dawn sing to the motion
Of the wave’s infuriating
Rush against the promontory.
Built upon it is a tower
With a light it’s crowning glory,
When that light shines in it’s power
It prefigures one who’s wisdom
Sheds her light upon the living
Marking them with holy chrism,
Showing mercy to the giving,
Giving comfort to the dying,
To the weak the sacred vessel
And her wrath shows to the lying
Thief who took the buds of vestal
Flowers promised to the child
For a garden kept well hidden
In a valley waxing wild
From a poison that forbidden
Was mistaken for a blessing
And I see those buds are blooming
In the heart of one caressing
With a love that’s all consuming
Those bouquets whose fragrance graces
Every corner of the palace
Where the thirsty mouth embraces
Tenderly the golden chalice.
Copyright 2009, Michael Fuchs
The City
I
Like a city by the ocean
I await the coming morning,
I anticipate the crimson
Herald of the golden advent
And I see the faces turning
Eastward to the fiery torrent
II
Cold and silent in the moonlight
Gently like an opal glowing
Slender towers facing midnight
Cast black shadows on the mountain
And I see the children throwing
Coins into the sacred fountain.
III
In the darkness that surrounds them
Floating just above the water,
Their formation like an emblem
Sails are gliding toward the harbour
And I see the captain's daughter
Waving to them from her arbor.
IV
Colder, clearer shine the stars now
That the wind has swept the valley
There the willows to the moon bow,
In the wind their branches dancing
And I see two lovers dally
In the throws of love advancing.
V
On the ramparts and the bastions
There’s a river undulating
People gather from all nations
Streaming through the streets and markets
And I see them congregating
To behold the surging rockets.
VI
High above Elysium’s temple
Flies the condor great and lonely
With his movements bold and nimble,
His eyes search the thin horizon
And I feel his gaze upon me
I’m the one he keeps his eyes on.
VII
Babylon the whore has taken
War and death to this great city,
Has the fruit from her trees shaken,
Has her children torn asunder
And I see the sky take pity
Sending warning signs of thunder.
VIII
Thunder that proclaims the coming
Of the heaven’s long awaited
Day of vengeance and it’s stunning
Strike against earth’s brazen soldiers
And I see emaciated
Children piled upon their shoulders.
IX
Children sacrificed for profit
On the altars of the demon
Once on track but now far off it,
He has made unsavory choices
And I see a sea of semen
Drowning out my children’s voices.
X
Voices whose continued screaming
Echo through our hills and valleys,
Through our hearts and minds careening
Amplified by our denial
And I see death counting tallies
While the culprit stands on trial.
XI
I the city, I the haven
Sit here waiting, contemplating
Flight of dove and crow of raven,
Seagull seeking my embankments
And I see their swarms migrating
In a phalanx like combatants.
XII
Who through thunder, who through lightning
Make their way to distant islands,
Persevering in the fright’ning
Bedlam that around them bellows
And I see the barren highlands
Blackened by their fleeting shadows.
XIII
Politicians line my gutters
Leeches, lechers clog my sewers,
People spy them through their shutters
Tumbling headlong down my alleys
And I see them strung on skewers
Fattened for the fire with follies.
XIV
Fattened to the point of bursting,
Fattened by the toil of lowly
Workers they continued cursing
While they rode upon their shoulders
And I see them turning slowly
On the spit while their flesh smolders.
XV
Very soon to be forgotten
Very soon to rest forever
In the tomb of souls gone rotten,
Souls that couldn’t find the fountain
And I see them leaving never
To ascend the holy mountain.
XVI
Singled out to feed the nations
Singled out to be the beacon
I the city am the gracious
Alma mater of the ages,
And I see my children seeking
Out the wisest of the sages.
XVII
Seeking words of wisdom written
On my pillars and my arches,
On their fleshy tablets smitten
By love’s swords and spears of sorrows
And I see them lighting torches
Waiting for denied tomorrows.
XVIII
Name the names that must be named now
That good fellows carved out slices
Of an apple foul and sallow
They saw swaying in the garden
And I see them fixing prices
With their sneers aimed at the warden.
XIX
All the while the grim uniter
Of false prophets throws his shadows
On the world but we grow lighter
In the manger of our calling
And I see the babes in meadows
Counting stars from heaven falling.
XX
Heaven’s pictures tell us stories
Of the greatness of this city,
Of her sieges and her glories,
Celebrated through the ages
And I see her tears of pity
Falling on the golden pages.
XXI
Pages turning to the motions
Of the planets and their seasons,
To the heart beat of the nations,
Pages painted full of faces
And I see within them legions
Praying to the King of graces.
XXII
Graces needed for survival
In the final days of vengeance
For salvation’s quick arrival,
Prompted by the sainted choirs
And I see them shoveling remnants
Into Vulcan’s hungry fires.
XXIII
Remnants of the bodies broken
In the war against the chosen,
Who for love of truth the token
Wouldn’t offer to the serpent
And I hear them like an ocean,
Their waves echo loud and fervent.
XXIV
Loud and fervent are the pounding
Waves ascending and descending
Through the spangled sky resounding
With explosive incantations
And I see the deluge rending
My embankments and foundations.
XXV
Built upon a bed of granite
Stand two towers near a river
With an iron bridge to span it,
They stand tall and straight like pillars
And I see the sky deliver
Birds of fire, vicious killers.
XXVI
Towers burning to the sound of
Tortured children’s cries of horror,
Towers that are now a mound of
Toppled dreams and aspirations
And I see the angel’s power
Bearing down upon creation.
XXVII
Mighty twins that stood to witness,
Like the mirror of the city,
How the recklessness of witless
Civil servants trashed the country
And I see them sitting pretty
On the stock piles of their bounty.
XXVIII
Piles of booty, piles of corpses
Burning in the endless oven
Inventories who like torches
Cast their light upon our faces
And I see the demon’s cloven
Hoof stamp out their lambent traces.
XXIX
From the terrace of a palace
He is speaking to the people
With an offering of solace
Sweetening the dreaded message
And I hear bells from the steeple
Tolling for the sons of bondage.
XXX
Bondage that they suffered living
In a world of bondage waiting
For a sign from heaven giving
Them the strength they needed
And I hear the speaker trading
The standing for the seated.
Copyright 2009, Michael Fuchs
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