GENESIS I........

by **Harry** Wed Jul 29, 2015 11:45 am

Genesis 1

Speak out, O my Beloved, of Your creation,
How You made all things that exist and yet
Existent as You are, You have no nation
But are as One apart from all things met.
Speak out, O my Beloved, of light and air,
Of all the signs and wonders that appear
In earth and sea and sky and everywhere
Fowl flutter, cattle wander without fear.
Speak out, O my Beloved, command and blessing
To fill the earth and have dominion in
The things to eat, if they are seeds, I'm guessing,
They may be fruit, grain or nuts without sin.
Speak out, O my Beloved, and at Your speaking
Find me here always answering and seeking.

1 In starting, He created, God
Ælohim made the skies and sod.
2 The earth was vain and formless plain,
(Though dark things over the deep plod,)

And a great wind hovered in pain
Of birth above the waters’ bane.
3 Said Ælohim, "Let there be light"
And there was light on earth to reign.

4 Saw Ælohim the light was right,
Divided Ælohim on sight
The light from darkness in its sway.
5 Called Ælohim light day and night

He called the darkness. So that way
Evening and morning were first day.

There are some who still hope that they can find
A date for heaven and earth among the blind.
Some count to six millennia and say
That time stood still before Your word in sway.
Some count four billion years and still count more
Back from the rushing light years in their store
And know that bangs cannot be heard without
The ether aired to carry up a shout.
Beloved, the mind of man and woman too
Is curious to know when what You do
Is given time and place among the great.
It is a common human sort of fate.
So six thousand or four billion come late,
Both raise in me derision for the state.

With act of Your creation You unfold
Philosophy among the ones You scold.
The universe before the human eye
Implies both things determined on the sly
And freedom from the press of doubt and why.
By making human brain to work this way
You slip in inconsistency for play:
We must retain determination’s bill
As well as freedom on the earthly hill.
The revenuer always seeks the still.
Umbrella of Your sovereignty includes
The free will of some acts the heart extrudes.
Beloved, determine now Your love for me
And I shall still pretend that I am free.

That source of all the universe displayed
In time without time, space unspaced betrayed,
May have been like a great balloon to pop
And so expands until it comes to stop.
The universe is flying still about
In rubber bits and pieces in a flout,
But once the thrust is gone, the pieces drop
And lie upon a crystal floor to mop.
Beloved, get out a broom to sweep away
The stars and star-stuffs dropping on Your hay.
The whirling and the swirling have their day,
But rest at last in non-existent sway
Is like to make an unheard-of recall
Of every turning sun and planet’s ball.

If all the stuff You poured out from the fount
At speeds incredible in vale or mount
Keeps going outward from the central core,
I’d like to know what keeps them on the shore.
Direction of propulsion seems to me
To indicate a certain gravity
At the place of big bang’s one sorcery.
I may mistake both grail of history
And physics with my lack of property.
But if there’s no attraction in that face
From which all things pour out in crumpled race,
Then there can be no destination’s place.
I should have studied physics instead of
Theologies for naught in sacred love.

Beloved, You made the worlds and every sun
For one purpose, I trow, since I’ve begun.
I do admit my powers of comprehension
Are not too great in eternal suspension,
But still I speculate about Your smile.
It’s hardly done with any sort of guile,
So try to forgive me my extra mile.
It’s gratefulness You sought in everything
You made to spin about and made to sing.
A grateful heart suffices in the sting
Of law and judgement set forth on the wing.
So as I expand here diminished by
The years of days that I remain to vie,
I thank You for creating on the sly.

Though skies and plains retain a certain guile,
At least before the Trojans in their stile,
They have no hate within their bosoms set,
And no one hates them here before they’re met.
Hate is no thing created in the blue,
It is no thing that has come out from You,
Beloved, but is the product of the view
That You’re reflected in the human heart,
As though a thing that each one sets apart.
I know that I am god by that light shared
And so assume that anyone else bared
Competes with my uniqueness and must go
Into destruction before my own glow.
Half blindness is the starting of the show.

If You’re a treasure to be found at last
Among the universes in the blast,
After millennia’s debris outcast,
Then what of the time before the half-mast?
I count to ten or hundred and I call
Out that I’m coming after You and all,
And You pretend to hide and wink and peek
At all the boys and girls out on the seek.
Before the game, what did You then desire?
Were You for untold years upon the pyre
Of longing, longing for the human heart
Not yet displayed at all by divine art?
Beloved, love in Your own time and tell me
No hint of Your intent apostasy.

If You planned from infinities of time
What You would come to bang out in both rhyme
And rhythms rippling through unthwarted space,
You must have been elated by the face
That You created after all the while.
It must have caused You to break out a smile.
If You took such infinities to shake
Out blueprints of the things You’d like to make,
I wonder that the execution’s stake
Should be so short and sudden in the wake.
Beloved, if You’re elated, then so be,
And in elation look or not on me.

In wiser myths of wiser men times past
They saw the heavens and earth mated to cast
Between them all the love and light that stays
In fleeting glimpses on the earthly ways.
The principle of pairing in creation
Is not just sexual sort of elation,
But is the central fact of its existence.
The pairing is a thing of some insistence.
Only You who create all things are one,
And only You exist as one when done.
The set of the Creator contains just
One alone, while the cosmic sort of dust
Is multiplied and multiplied as must
Until the end of all things come to rust.

Beloved, I beg Your pardon that I make
So many sonnets on the simple take
Of the first verse You had inscribed to be
Beginning of the revelation’s spree.
The fact is, though I contemplate the whole
Of Bible and Qur’an as greater goal,
I simply turn and return to the start
Where I fail comprehending divine part.
I thought I understood first reading of
The books You sent down to men in Your love,
But with rereading, find my knowing there
Was hardly a beginning of the share.
I ponder all my life the first verse shown,
And then just the dot in the beth unknown.

There is no lack of rhymes to take this word
Among the English terms that have occurred
Since Oxford dictionary came and stirred
Imagination of the continent.
There are infinities that can be meant.
I may not weary You, Beloved, at all.
I may not become tired here in my stall.
But if I write a dozen more in call
Of sonnets on the first verse of Your book,
I’ll never finish all the things in crook
To the end of the holy Qur’an’s nook.
Besides, such slating of infinities
Is like to turn my reader on his knees
To beg of me alone Your own mercies.

All things created are weighted as signs
Of Your existence and of Your designs.
They speak in multiplicity to say
That You alone are One and every day.
The holy Qur’an makes appeal to those
Created things as witnesses in rows,
And David in his Psalms is on his toes
To show that heaven and earth repeat along
The burden of creation’s light in song.
The weight of witness still speaks to my heart
That moves along on earth by donkey-cart,
And tells the light years on my path that You
Are near and far, inside and out of view.
The weighted witness remains here my cue.

When and where were You waiting before You
Produced the universe to heavenly view?
You had and have no whenness to wait here,
And You retain no whereness to appear.
All times and places may be Your abode,
But all are too scant for You and Your load.
Wait if You will or must, but still I trust
That words of revelation in the dust
Are mighty flighty in a sugared crust.
I wait for inspiration from the crowd
Of witnesses that You have once allowed,
And find too much to sing upon my heart.
Your witnessing was my waiting for dart
In my breast to create my love to start.

The basis of both time and space You made
In the six of directions in parade,
And counted out the pairs of skies and earth
To find their dearth and worth and birth and mirth.

...

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