Lent, rises like John
from Jordan threatening
the locust of the wilderness.
Forty days to lay waste
to wasted lives and grieve
The loss of things and thoughts
and thoughtlessness.
It burns like bug eaten breath to see
how little I’ve thought of you;
how I’ve thought little of you;
how I’ve given little thought to you.
I’ve forgotten I can stand on rooftips,
listing timbers, uncorked sinkholes,
as safe in battle as in bed
as safe here, as in heaven itself.
Eight days ago, St Valentine died
beaten or beheaded for brides
and grooms unwedded
for king’s fool games.
We love him for his cant
towards sweeter manners
and make ours worse for it.
Cut out your damned eyes,
Let the scales fall
and wash the mud.
Wash in Jordan, seven times
like the gentile before you.
He who would nod
to his king’s god
has more faith than you.
On this eighth day we will pray
to circumcise our hearts.
We ask to be made ready,
a bride looking towards her love,
the rising Son. We dread
our own betrothal, when
we lauded its keeper.
Today, we begin see
the dazzling splendour
we miss because our eyes
are blinded by the sun.
We give up wine,
and take up water
When whisky sits
a world of brine and smoke.
We do not give up rightly,
but slaughter things rightly held.
Our lent lost its laughter
with diet ridden clatter.
God is not weak.
Our Groom’s world
not soft insipidity,
stooped by giving up anything
or indeed everything.
You cannot give where
he has not made more full.
Try.
Lent rises like John from Jordan
Fill your bridal lamps and wait.
The Spirit and the Bride say, ”Come”
There is honey in the wilderness
Come out of the wasteland,
Oh you of little faith.
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