Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Notre Dame de Paris

Streaming beams of light cut through your
Interior, softly shining shafts that cleave
All darkness. The cold air hangs still and high.
I have seldom felt so small.

Your vast reaches make me feel I could lose myself
There or in the joyous brilliance of your singing roses.

My eyes reach up and out along your
Celestial arches, following the graceful, knowing curves,
Led by lines where we are meant to go.
They built you out of cold stone but made you fly.

Down the cavernous side aisles shadowed like winter,
I enter the pools of warm light from votary candles.
They stand in circular ranks, silent voices in the dark,
Speaking their prayers to the eternal inscrutability
One by one.

This was written in response to the word of the day, votary, at Poem of the Day.

5 Comments:

Blogger Amy said...

I admire the way you can be so inspired by a single word. I particularly like the first three lines. You have some nice sense and imagery in here--"The cold air hangs till and high;" the votives in "circular ranks"--simple but effective.

10/18/2005 12:05 PM  
Blogger Mary said...

Just beautiful, Moose.

10/18/2005 1:13 PM  
Blogger zhoen said...

I was imagining the first time I saw a picture of the Hagia Sophia. I have yearned to go there, stand in that sacred space ever since.

10/18/2005 2:25 PM  
Blogger Jean said...

Oh my, lovely. How on earth do you do this day after day? You're very gifted. Thank you for sharing it with us.

10/19/2005 2:41 AM  
Blogger MB said...

Thank you all for your feedback and support! Amy thanks for your careful and specific reading. Zhoenw, I've never been there, would love to. There is something about sacred spaces that gets even me.

10/19/2005 9:50 AM  

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