Monday, June 23, 2014

Scath Beorh- Two Poems

St. John 6.55
In preparation, we invite
the smallest detail in the night
and gather gladness like a rood
gathers wildflowers, and we should,
for all in life comes to one part:
that we might hold the Holy Heart;
that we might become joyful swords
impaled upon the Living Word,
impaled and reborn for the Host,
our Ancient Lord the Holy Ghost.
His blood in me,
His flesh in me;
strange light-bringing mystery.

I am fevered
not now with things long dead
but with a newfound fervor
for the Living Dread,
for the higher highest ground
where I know are secrets found
and, just now, people whose strange sound
is my challenge and my crown.
I remember childhood.
I remember youthful fears.
I remember old age in that odd land
with my candle’s tears.
But what I now remember most
is the dreadful Searing Host
who some now call the Holy Ghost,
the Paraclete who loves me most,
protects me from lost years.
As much as lieth within thee,
     live peaceable with men.
What is it lies down within me?
     Christ Jesus lies within.

Born in Pensacola and raised along the Gulf Coast from New Orleans to Panama City, Scáth Beorh has also lived in the South Alabama of his Cherokee and Ulster-Scot ancestors, Hollywood, New Orleans, Dublin, and throughout Ireland. His books include Black Fox In Thin Places, October House, Ghosts of St. Augustine, Blood: A Vampire Chronicle, Children & Other Wicked Things, Dark Sayings of Old, Pirate Lingo, and Always After Thieves Watch. His vision as a storyteller is to ask questions rarely pondered, to speculate, to horrify, and to point listeners toward an endless eternity of forgiveness, light, and the deep things of God. Today he makes a home with his lovely and intuitive wife Ember on a treelined ‘Turn-of-the-Century’ avenue in St. Augustine, Florida.

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