Sonnet in the Shape of a Potted Christmas Tree

*

O

fury-

bedecked!

O glitter-torn!

Let the wild wind erect

bonbonbonanzas; junipers affect

frostyfreeze turbans; iciclestuff adorn

all cuckolded creation in a madcap crown of horn!

It’s a new day; no scapegrace of a sect

tidying up the ashtrays playing Daughter-in-Law Elect;

bells! bibelots! popsicle cigars! shatter the glassware! a son born

now

now

while ox and ass and infant lie

together as poor creatures will

and tears of her exertion still

cling in the spent girl’s eye

and a great firework in the sky

drifts to the western hill.

--George Starbuck (1931-1996), American poet

The Altar

A broken ALTAR, Lord, thy servant rears, 

Made of a heart and cemented with tears; 

Whose parts are as thy hand did frame; 

No workman's tool hath touch'd the same. 

A HEART alone 

Is such a stone, 

As nothing but 

Thy pow'r doth cut. 

Wherefore each part 

Of my hard heart 

Meets in this frame 

To praise thy name. 

That if I chance to hold my peace, 

These stones to praise thee may not cease. 

Oh, let thy blessed SACRIFICE be mine, 

And sanctify this ALTAR to be thine. 

-- George Herbert (1593-1633), Anglican poet and priest

Easter-wings

Lord, Who createdst man in wealth and store,

Though foolishly he lost the same,

Decaying more and more,

Till he became

Most poore:

With Thee

O let me rise,

As larks, harmoniously,

And sing this day Thy victories: 

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne;

And still with sicknesses and shame

Thou didst so punish sinne,

That I became

Most thinne.

With Thee

Let me combine,

And feel this day Thy victorie;

For, if I imp my wing on Thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

-- George Herbert (1593-1633), English priest and poet, from The Temple (1633)