Tuesday, 22 March 2011

Abbey Hall and Resurgence by Nancy Snipper

 Abbey Hall

Brandish me your golden chain.
Devil’s dungeon, burning flame.
Creation’s roar.
A slave in pain.

Oh would that this secret
whose thousand links
are years of bonded time,
Would burst and bury
the browning bones
moaning of tortured minds!


These times are fraught with most ill favour,
a muted trumpet whose sound lies limp.
It cannot speak, its glory stopped,
chambered in a valve to rot.

Die you devils
Dark as agents,
You cannot kill our sound, our voice,
Though it be gentle, timid and humble
It is here forever

Oh happy song
that shakes our heart
that stirs the tiger
and makes him start
to burn inside
to feel alive
to leap an infinite mile wide.

Terrible trumpet 
trample it down 
deep into the jaws of the ground.
Wild trumpet
burst in song.
Bubble, banter
Please bleet on!

Break the devil’s beautiful bones,
make him screech
make him moan.
Tear out your mute,
                                    No longer shy,
                                                              Cry to bleed,
                                                                                     Sigh to try!