Empress: Graveyard on the Point

Empress 314.jpg

Graveyard on the Point:
A Survivor Remembers his Catechism
Ste. Luce-sur-mer

The survivor at the cross roads,
wreathed in his personal storm:

et discerne causam meam /
… and distinguish my cause

de gente non sancta… /
from the unholy nation.

Rising waves:
bells on buoys
peal out sea warnings.

Tonight there is a grief across the grève.

Sa griffe / his claw,
ma griffe / my claw
homophonic puns

scratching at reality’s surface,
hiding inner meanings,
leaving the depths unplumbed.

Did he really paint
the reality of the shipwreck,
this Magritte?

 Cette pipe, qui n’est pas une pipe! /
This pipe which isn’t a pipe!

Mi grito que no es un grito! /
My cry which isn’t a cry!

Cette vie qui n’est plus une vie!
This life which is no longer a life!

This littoral bay
no longer a literal bay.

ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me /
from the unjust and deceitful man deliver me.

Over bird frosted rocks,
a ring billed gull cries out whose name
on its early journey to greet pale stars?

 On the beach at the cross’s foot,
a grey robed pilgrim

stands in dusk’s failing light.

et introibo ad altare Dei:
ad Deum, qui laetificat juventutem meam
/

and I will go unto the altar of God:
to God, who giveth joy to my youth.

Mouettes, göelands muets:
sea gulls, silent sea gulls:
white arrows shot over sea wet sand.

He stands solemn before this graven stone
waiting to be blessed:

 sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper /
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be …

The eider duck sigh for their siblings,
tossed from the crèche and lost
in the long low swirl of the sea.

21 thoughts on “Empress: Graveyard on the Point

      • I think you told me about this a few days ago. The history that you related was fascinating…it’s hard to imagine that the world would not have heard about a ship sinking with that many souls on board, as you said, more than either the Titanic or the Lusitania…shaking my head.

        (got it)

        Liked by 1 person

    • “Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!” Except my works are like sand in the desert … or flowers blooming in the desert waste … so few people read them. I guess it’s the wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command … read my poems … dammit!

      Liked by 2 people

  1. Beautiful, Roger, and lucky for me to get back to these poems from my busyness. Thanks, as always, for posting them. White arrows shot over sea wet sand; bird frosted rocks; are we not all tossed from the crèche? Take care –@

    Liked by 3 people

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