THE CELESTIAL PALACE

Why argue thus, my sunlit butterfly
and moonlit moth, over cosmic mysteries
way above your enchanted arcs of flight.
For one, sunny fields of flowers delight,
the other heeds Hecate’s call at night,
even to sacrifice the self at shrines
ethereal, mankind’s artificial light.
One says that every evening King Sun dies,
with dirgeful winds in disc-shaped barge he sails,
and at daybreak resurrects and rises
as Aurora blows her golden conch-shell
calling him forth to live another dawn;
the other argues that King Sun at dusk
departs and dozes off to opulence
while cloistered in his foam-filled western bed,
the celestial palace of a kingdom,
citied far, in lands beyond horizon.
Dark Moon, nagging queen of pessimism,
mourns her man’s departure at afternoon;
Silver Moon, his favourite concubine,
is confident that King Sun will return
from nightly pleasures of exotic lands
in far-off harems of ten-thousand stars
on morning’s magic-carpet of bright clouds.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

SOARING EAGLE

Soaring eagle,
the mouse
is watching you,
vultures
circle behind you.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE UNGRATEFUL CHILD

Once upon a time,
Earth Mother lived
in the world.
One day Earth Mother,
impregnated with the Word,
Seed of the Creator,
gave birth to a child--

Man.

And Manchild, in his immaturity,
his ignorance, greed and vanity,
in the name of science and technology,
armed, with the weapon of civilization,
was bent on turning 'round
and destroying her,
his own mother.

But little did he know
that he would perish too,
for land is greater than man,
and man belongs to land;
she was here before and will be hereafter,
a grim reminder, survivor
of ingrate mankind’s mean demeanour.

So ends the saga
of ungrateful Manchild
and Earth Mother.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

WE, THE CHARRED ONES (A LAMENTATION)

We, the charred animals, who fought your wars,
defended your democracy,
endured your endless humiliation,
we, the charred ones, who fought your wars,
we wept when you refused to
acknowledge
your wrong,
to repent your endless atrocities
against us.
You passed up the opportunity to
make atonement for your sins
before God and man
down in South Africa,
your not-long-ago bloody bastion
of bigotry—
of segregation,
and snow-white apartheid.
Yea, we wept with the untouchable ones
on the subcontinent;
yea, we wept with the first nation peoples
of the world;
yea, we wept with all the oppressed
of the world;
we wept with the oppressed
and our tears touched,
our tears flowed across the oceans
and touched
and pooled in every land
with tears of the oppressed in every land,
touched, until the pool of lamentation
overflowed
and touched the Master’s hand—
yea, until the pool of lamentation
overflowed
and touched the Master’s hand.

Copyright ©2001 by Newton V. Chance

BUNDLE-WOOD

(in memory of my father)

how long will mankind
piss against the wind
hang upside-down like bats

to defecate on the Maker
succeeding
only in messing on ourselves

a musician called Shortman
once befuddled me
declaring out of the blue

“this world
is one big shithouse”
then I saw it clear as daylight

birds doing it dogs doing it
fish doing it frogs doing it
flies doing it bats doing it

cows doing it man doing it
politicians doing it priests doing it
to the world

to our minds to our lives
scarab pushing it
is gobhar

in the water in the air
in the forest on the street
in the park on the lawn

on the roof on the floor
in the ceiling on the wall
in our minds in our lives

we are surrounded by it
my father used to say
“if bundle-wood never loose

it never tie good”

Copyright ©2002 by G. Newton V. Chance

BLACK MADONNA

Black Madonna, Holy Enigma,
Some consider you the Mother
Of God.
Many the veils and mysteries,
Like Hod or Yesod,
The ancient myths and histories,
Like the kabalic unspoken Word,
I may not understand,
But this one thing I am assured,
You are the Mother of man.

Black Madonna, Divine Diva,
Some consider you the Mother
Of Miracles.
Many the altars and shrines,
Like Holy Oracles
To pilgrims and seekers of signs,
Like bishops and popes in shackles,
Liberating the pawns in the people's minds,
Presiding over papal debacles
To reveal your true bloodlines.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance