Pilgrim’s Progress
There’s no such thing as an avian skunk;
To see such a thing you’d have to be drunk:
Or, sitting at home, watching TV,
You might see an emu, or large bumblebee,
Or, outside a window, behind a closed door,
A clean avian pig, back and forth, soar.
Or, more highly likely, as case may be,
You could see a dragon on Netflix TV.
Or, if you prefer a large dose of crime,
Turn your set over to Amazon Prime.
Or, nonsense prevailing, look to the stars,
Where you’re likely to see high-flying cars.
Or, look out a window, as I have to do,
Watch birds at their feeders, spectacular crew:
Cardinals and titmice, finches and wrens,
Grosbeaks and cowbirds, blue jays, turtle doves,
Grackles, red-winged blackbirds—one of my loves.
The really real suffers when the mind bends
Like a deep-sea diver, rising too fast,
What’s in his blood kills him quickly at last.
I sit in my lift chair, feel my mind tumble
Into an abyss, watch sanity crumble.
Thus spouting nonsense, I continue to stare
At each real creature I know to be there;
For each has a purpose; each is a key
That leads back from ruin to Simon and me.
Real Truth is absolute, eternal, unchanging;
Beauty is real, out there, in my mind—
Sometimes it’s simply, to others be kind.
Find one image, transparent and real,
Start down the road stamped with God’s seal.
Pilgrim’s images: maple tree, oak, close to home;
Bumblebee, butterfly, Beatrice, beauty;
Coy in the water; turtle in sun;
Simon, Schuster, Pookie, Frollie—dog;
Azalea, hot pink; yellow daffodils in spring;
The shape of woman, her beautiful eyes;
My friend; classical music, Mozart and more;
Sun, moon, stars—Orion in winter.
Dante, Shakespeare, Spenser, Flannery O’Connor
(Just an important sampling; images must be found,
discovered, point beyond themselves, participate in that
to which they point, be loved)
The journey where Christ is the end.
