47. Ode of the Ring

I

O, symbolic eternity born, Ante Christum; still rounded and circular of shape,
Whose looking glass centre awarded Isis (mother of Horus) a gate.
Alack, from woven reeds and ivory, to celebrate, Bacchus and his mountain grape.

Harsh, the world wherein Mars presides, guarded by woven threads ornate.
Iron: chains thy slaves & smites thy foes; owned by none, save thee;
Lady wife: carries pride-filled iron band.  By Jove! The howling winds of fate

Await not! Lovers of this melancholy earth; stare no more, let breathing stars be,
Little Lamb, thou hath sufficient force by thy hearth, with Apollo’s bronzed lyre.
Rings, scattered hither and thither, tossed away upon land, & in Neptune’s stormy sea.

Pass by Anno Domini, O Jove; those who call thee Lord, freeze in fire,
Sent down to Pluto’s purgatory. Still, golden tradition doth remain. How mortally vain
Thine efforts. Thou shalt n’er expire! Arise! Fuse thy broken pieces make them whole.


II

O metal, melted within flaming coal,
Poured forth, from thy hearth, liquid fire becometh molten form.
Gifted at thy birth, precious metal equates thee worth, body & soul.

Lass, thou hath become a lovely maid, fair of cheek, warm,
Meek & mild. Glittering bright, O how thy power hath marred thy light.
Tears of silver, scald me not! Go forth! For singular duty thy must perform!

How doth such infantile thing, bare unto it more might
Than our king?  O golden band, rest always, on pale, slender hand.
Oft kept guarded, by pike and bow, protectors able and willing to fight.

Not marred, nor ravished; touched by no man. Thou art but a delicate wedding band.  
Thy golden centre: truth of man’s blackened heart. Rubies and emeralds set thee apart!
By Book & priest, Church & ban, simple addition to wealth & land. Lady, now cease thy fears!


III

O, silent child mother, why doth thy shed thine starlit tears?
Ruled by all, thy father, thy son, thy newborn king, pray tell, why thou art alone?
“Mind not my watery eyes, for inlayed band to whom I pray, listens yet never hears.”

Arthur and Medea, their spouses long fled. Doth marriage kill like rock and stone?
As Robin, verily loved his Marion fair, nary a ring, bid he her wear.
Infant, of pleasant smiling cheek, thine speaking eye, withal hath grown.

Soft! But what untruth hath thou wrought? Speak! O, sensuous, saffron rare!
And to chariest bride and corky groom, lift thy goblet high and drink mighty toast,
To happy hearth and bride, with beauty such, that to Helen must she compare.

Wed thine women, afore scandal, & to heaven pray. “Father, Son, & Holy Ghost,
Preserve the family's grace.” Little Mother Mary, blessed curse thou carry –to manger, holy place!
For child out of wedlock be nary a sin to boast! Yet shameful secret, must family keep.


IV


O, ageless time! Brief candle buried, below seven unholy sins that reap.
From crone, to maiden, to mother, upon whose hands, little ring doth dwell.
Half-hushed the murmurs of little child fast asleep.

Listen, there be the enchantment sung by ancient church bell.
Where is thy great-grandmother’s ring, thy mindless prayer eternal peace?
Soothing the volcanic flames of Hades underworld hell.

Unravished, pale brides, who, in vast quantities do decrease,
Thy value for all ‘tis worth: weighed, measured, and sold;
Customs and traditions do, on occasion cease.

But still purchases are made: rings fashioned from spindled gold.
And given only to those whose weddings are soon to impend,
That is a custom of times long grown old.

Now young lady of sixteen, slip on grandmother’s old wedding band. Commend!
Metal ring, priceless a thing! As the circle bends, has no beginning therefore no end.