Under The Hammer Sledge But Not Of Snow Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Under the hammer sledge not of snow
But of thoughts dreary and dark and multiple
I forged throughout the evening.
All aglow the heater burnt orange
Then igniting to a redder hue
It turned.

Then
I saw that there was no Christmas tree
I could sing under if song came
No magic cavern of the Circe type
I could sing in if the song came
No magic bay of fairies and of nymphs
To sing from high up on the pinnacles
Or rock.

No, no, no.

You asked me why I assert so much
About the times that I am dry and parched
When my bottle and my glass are dry
Or well to nigh:
You asked me.

You asked me why so pessimistic
The looks I cast upon the mighty heavens
And why so sad the look I cast on
The wide-bosomed Oceans.

I replied not, hoping for my silence to speak.

You asked not more.

But that, yes that,
Made me ask myself why.

Blank, bleak, blank
At first.

But then I found that in the dreariness
There be that humility which required
Is in the Doctrine of Sacrifice whereby
Great works of intellect are produced.
So be it.
Expect a little so to reap the more.

Unlock, my Muse, unlock the fairy door
In the castle of Verse and Song,
Unlock, that I may enter
And though cobwebs and must smells
Meet and greet me
Yet I will the treasure chests of song
And more
The treasure chests of discovery and lore:
What sovereign, power, tycoon can do more?
I will not exchange intellectual power with human power.
For you, my Monsignor, to judge now,
For you, my Monsignor.