IWERNE MINSTER
Till summer dusk I ran and ran like Christ
On childhood holiday. He cramped and fell,
But seeing hell, he rose with blood, he iced
The bruise, and, hark, his friends could never tell.
Till chapel hour, I ducked and dived like Saul
Before the road was clear. He fell and cried,
Then changed his name; like me, he heard the call,
Still, small, but kept his nerve to spread it wide.
In bare feet I stepped carelessly on grass
And stones ‘til cracks appeared. I held my pain
‘Til night time came - one holy moment passed
In vain was not a thought I’d entertain.
I ran and stumbled, hit the floor, flushed red
With shame, while my scratched palms solemnly bled.
CHICAGO
Grant Park, October 2008 -
a multitude collects in hope unbound,
while I’m hot off the plane, a little late
To understand this hope the city’s found.
For twenty-six miles the crowd will be one
On this unjustly sultry Autumn day.
Though, fooled by lake breeze and dim morning sun,
We start undaunted by the price we’ll pay.
I greet the Tower at halfway, spry and strong,
Then one mile later, cramp first comes to call.
The next twelve miles last just about as long
As fits a pride that comes before its fall.
Grant Park, Chicago, next month, yet more pride.
The multitude convenes in hope. Hope died.
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