michael oliver (13-4-1948 / swansea)
My Holy (Revised Version)
The Christian cup of tea - handed and asking
Asking the stiff white collared guru
Askig the collar - So what is Holy?
The clap trap of church speak delivered - Squawk!
Flapping the orbit of praise and acknowledgement
Defining God as a celestial numb nuts
OK-Yeah - BUT - What is Holy
Can you wrestle Rilke's angel
Emerging with a crippled reverence
Lust after Michaelangelos cosmic Erato
Daring to touch beauty with a pink finger
Will the knife new realized at the precious throat
Confirm the exile and the instinct Holy
Hidden by the cave -frightened of the imagined Holy
That echo whisper darking the volcano and the wind
Thrown down petrified in a sunlit courtyard
While the comforter quickens the Lapiz Lazuli womb
At the extremis of pain memory rebels
Shouting at the closing sky Lemi Lemi Sabacthani
Ok - Yeah - BUT- 'What is Holy'
Is all this Holy? so what - or
the spring buds confident and green
a BB pencil leaves its dust
an evening so transformed - Holy
ink ground, brush wiped, movements
the lines, the washes and omissions
the shaman dances Holy on rice paper
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