SPRING EQUINOX.

Babylon do I really feel you
In my early wake
When sleep hangs still and drowsy
like a summer promise
I push my hands through material folds
As heaven’s light with radiant burst
A dawn breaking over the land.

Babylon do I really know you
Was I there with you
Holy yet confused
As seen down the long years one way crossed
Except in books and the dreams of our kind
As a vision you feed my mind's story.

Yes Nimrod built the haunt of kings
The nemesis of Jerusalem doth rise
And still the people sing sad in memory
An ancient lament for a captivity unendurable.

Your dynasty a footing in dust
Hibernating under harsh Iraqi sun
Part cleaned and mysterious made
By a great Euphrates feasting on its banks
Memory preserved in this river of dreams.

Marduk drew the gaze of Yahweh bright
Sensing danger that dwelt babel risen
The bel that never rang
The single hand clap
As thunder crashed and lightning flashed
Hard and sharp throughout their land.

And then when Nebuchadnezzar
Did toil build and sing
Crafts a gate named Ishtar
And a wondrous garden
To soothe Amytis's grief.

Mountains great with tree clustered wealth
Engineered waters that rise and fall
According to need all who thirst
Their dehydration rapidly quenched  
Babylonian  technology in service bound.

A wonder of the world
In limestone blanc
Was the gods own garden
In a land that was flat
A land that was dry.

Once in a paradise of science and art
A tower climbed to heaven's very gates
A wrath came fragmenting all understanding
Magi newly minted plied their trade
A veritable spawning pot of
Gods to be
Gods to see
and gods who were not.

Could this bright land be
The birthing of the Easter’s story of death
And the sweet redemption of
A son lost and a spring reclaimed
We live on in your vision
To land sweet bounty of ancient times
Your gift to us in our perpetuity.

Where Ishtar bravely went
To trial and death in darkened depths
Hung naked on a stake only to return
With sweet spring on her shoulder.

Then six months on with heavy heart
Tammuz retakes his journey down
In sharp regret with summer's sweet kisses
Their moist imprint still fresh on flesh
Brave Ishtar follows him winding down
And a terror of winter howls in her wake.

And when the Christ had reached his time
Mourned was winter's slow decline
Delivered for trial and penance to suffer
Nailed on high and dragged below.

Under silver moonshine plays his part
Hands pierced a remittance paid
And promptly receipted
As he journeyed hard and sharp
To meet his brutal fate.

Returned in hope of seedlings new growth
Washed fresh in lambs blood now
Yahweh's son reborn to spring’s hymn
Singing echoes in stoney cool shade.

Far from old Albion tribal wild
Encumbered by the ties that bind
Now so familiar and tight we barely shrug
And so we proof against wind and rain
Preserved in our aspic state separate alone.

In the elements dear to Arcadia's spirit
Through round henge and wooded copse
Farmer cleared fields holloways winding
We peel bright eyes for earth signs known.

Animals a hunting by primrose spread
Celandine small bright guide our eyes
And give mark to stream's bank
A shock of daffodils promise future sun.

In this vernal equinox earth axis tilts
And a moment of balance is achieved
So this is spring sprung in Albion land
Organically certified and fine.

In sweet anticipation the dawn birdsong
Capacious it encapsulates nature's delight
Hear a cuckoo's call a nightingale's song
Repetitive liquid and so sweet  
It resembles a faith more felt then held.

Herald the passing of winter’s cold bite
Goodbye to the murmurations mathematic
That painted our dark angry skies.

Say hello to frog spawn’s jellied lens
And queen bees lost far from home
As farmer folk prepare the seed
To ready the land for next winter's need.

In times of plenty horizon seer seen
We understand the needs of nature
And place the worn yoke about our neck
knees are bent in toil and anguish
Furrows placed and people fed.

All is natural formed
And made for earth's sake
Life and death their cycles touch
Now see production’s bold strokes
Our psyche crushed in industrial might.

Merely a rumour a history in reverse
The land will insist on cooperation true
Or say goodbye to kith and kin
Embrace a journey's end.

Now our industry has provided a tarmac
Both shiny sweet smooth and convenient
We work ever harder we do ever less
We conquer our sickness yet all are dying.

And now in spring our modern Easter pledge
lost in culture's great confusion some ask
Who we are
What we are
Why we do.

Who prepares the earth in our now time
Who gathers the flowers their colour and perfume sweet
Who paints the eaten egg over easy.

As habitats fall one to three
From old kingdoms nestled
In earth folds and cups
See diversity in battle with self.
A running post-Cambrian slash and burn
Assisted by our drive and malice
Yet mourning lingers for our early state.

From earth to hand to mouth
Close the gate hobble the horse
Otherwise what will there be
Remember a sacrifice slashed red
Over and in the again
By adults and their children
In fealty we made oath to our spring.

So in the here
For now we will……….
Drown in our own affluence
Smell of our own effluence
And think ourselves just fine.


©️david fry 11th April 2018.