Thursday, August 03, 2006


When idol becomes icon
The image turns grave
With darkest deception
Convex turns concave.

Windows on heaven
The icon’s true aim
If means becomes end
It’s not quite the same.

But breaking the making
Iconoclasm’s wrath
Is equally misguided
A mischosen path.

See through the icon
The larger design
Wineskins best function
To convey wine.

Sacred cows gilded
Become golden calves
We worship the image
Of things that we have.

Beauty without truth
The glass becomes stained
Verity strained.

Like art that is tainted
Like thoughts quite insane
Showers of blessings
Become Noah’s rain

July 31 2006


HeyJules said...

OUTSTANDING! (You brought me out of lurking with that one...)

Questing Parson said...

Terrific. Just terrific.

SingingOwl said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
SingingOwl said...

That was a GREAT poem. And you know what? Other than my own poetry, which is not nearly as good, this is the first poem with a bit of rhyme that I've seen in a long time. People seem to be forgetting that poetry should sound good aloud. Anyway, that was good.

"Sacred cows gilded,
Become golden calves"


Lynne said...

LOL Singing Owl, that was my favourite line too! Profound, heart searching stuff. I will be re-reading this again and again.
And it even passed the ultimate test -- I read it out loud to my husband (who isn't poetically inclined, though he's had to endure his share of my writings!!) and he really appreciated it. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.

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