Bora born
Evensong _
The cities twilight street scape plays with canyons
of office blocks converged in light below.
He walks alone, in green shoes with matching back
pak across stop go streets, legging it out on
a circuit to pass Saint John's Cathedral in
search of where he should have been that morning.
Leaf strewn steps of grey pink granite cascade as
a hallowed waterfall from those front oak doors.
Light plumes of celestial voices captured
in subtle threads tending the rose emanate
in prescient harmonies, fluid in flight past
this quiescent man who invites him within.
His sweaty street walk clothes are of no interest
as he's guided by humbled tones of patience.
He takes his place within the gathering near
the front to the left of the isle behind a
young couple, in front of a man from somewhere
in the netherworlds of the dark continent.
The priest's allegorical styled sermon finds
some legs betwixt the borderlands self styled pews.
The hand held mike presaged her movement about
the space from lectern to Bishop's Chair through the
congregation, the metaphor not lost on
those who cresche this place, peace found within their midst.
And there it is, why they gather here in a
brotherhood and sisterhood beyond ritual.
The choir of voices retire in a passion
the gathering left to attend their own needs
within the circle they invite him in, a
stranger passing in the night, street worn, unknown.
Dipped treats on a silver plate pass through hands, the
circled gathering stays on in reflection.
A common talk on the sermon, re-invites
others to contribute on presentation
of the message of the gospels in this place
where numbers diminish while others flourish.
He sits and listens, gracious in the company
of these people he would love to come to know.
The wisdom of the ages as a fresh spring
flows from an elder woman youth never left
behind, her insight showered upon the lot
absorbed by some, blessings shed by others.
The quiescent man relates his story of
a life once saved by humbled acts of kindness.
Of a man's last visit to the Cathedral
to give penance for his own life he felt he
must take, an outcome dissolved in the bedewed
kind invitation of welcome found inside.
In witness he leaves them with an unspoken
message in subtle answer to their question.
This sacred place is their refuge for the work
they must do within and without as elders
walking the talk in time with the fisherman
acceptance an ideal spirit shares with all.
- O -
© 25th mar 2013 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
of office blocks converged in light below.
He walks alone, in green shoes with matching back
pak across stop go streets, legging it out on
a circuit to pass Saint John's Cathedral in
search of where he should have been that morning.
Leaf strewn steps of grey pink granite cascade as
a hallowed waterfall from those front oak doors.
Light plumes of celestial voices captured
in subtle threads tending the rose emanate
in prescient harmonies, fluid in flight past
this quiescent man who invites him within.
His sweaty street walk clothes are of no interest
as he's guided by humbled tones of patience.
He takes his place within the gathering near
the front to the left of the isle behind a
young couple, in front of a man from somewhere
in the netherworlds of the dark continent.
The priest's allegorical styled sermon finds
some legs betwixt the borderlands self styled pews.
The hand held mike presaged her movement about
the space from lectern to Bishop's Chair through the
congregation, the metaphor not lost on
those who cresche this place, peace found within their midst.
And there it is, why they gather here in a
brotherhood and sisterhood beyond ritual.
The choir of voices retire in a passion
the gathering left to attend their own needs
within the circle they invite him in, a
stranger passing in the night, street worn, unknown.
Dipped treats on a silver plate pass through hands, the
circled gathering stays on in reflection.
A common talk on the sermon, re-invites
others to contribute on presentation
of the message of the gospels in this place
where numbers diminish while others flourish.
He sits and listens, gracious in the company
of these people he would love to come to know.
The wisdom of the ages as a fresh spring
flows from an elder woman youth never left
behind, her insight showered upon the lot
absorbed by some, blessings shed by others.
The quiescent man relates his story of
a life once saved by humbled acts of kindness.
Of a man's last visit to the Cathedral
to give penance for his own life he felt he
must take, an outcome dissolved in the bedewed
kind invitation of welcome found inside.
In witness he leaves them with an unspoken
message in subtle answer to their question.
This sacred place is their refuge for the work
they must do within and without as elders
walking the talk in time with the fisherman
acceptance an ideal spirit shares with all.
- O -
© 25th mar 2013 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
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Evensong _
Evensong _
