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An Anthology of Spiritual Poetry

by Pam Crane



Published by Shoestring at Shakespir

Copyright 2017 Pam Crane



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[]They Who Kiss Mind


to whom I do belong

to My

to My Self alone


My is a wide net cast

between time

hither and past


Self a sense of eye


in privacy


the blue nerve seen

through wax

is ice-keen


of uncommon kind

are they

who kiss mind


risk discovery in


Angels’ skin


the people of Light


behind my sight


we are the white-gold


We are very old



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[]The Return


In the holy of holies

in thick dark

smelling of birds and stone

my blind hand’s



the symbol of life


I have come back


my trails of

four thousand years

and all their images

twist to a single

focus, spin

to one fine brilliant vibrant


this Egypt

this temple

this soft dancing-ground

of yellow dogs

echoing sparrows

and buried shame


I have come back


in shadows

my long strange face


beholds me

The sun and my son

haunt me

in the reed baskets

jostling crushed notes, cats

cheap azure scarabs

ubiquitous images of my peerless wife


where is my city

flat hot dust a rubble of stones

between the holy cliff

and sun-caught sails


stare from donkey-back at the gates

of death that swallowed me

my hymns

my sweet children

flying and creeping creatures


all I knew


pilgrims cluster

in temples, in musty tombs

tracing my broken features in the torchlight

following with their finger-tips

fine rays

slim hands of the sun


I have come back

like the dog to its vomit

I cannot undo


cannot erase


cannot abase myself before my golden boy

weeping begging his pardon

cannot unmake

the silly myths of heretic as hero

nor can I dissuade

a thousand souls from wanting to be me


For I am he

stripped of imagination’s glamour


of eyes name scraped away

in the king list bones


regalia food for thieves


I am he

trapped in another life and pinioned

to this shock newsreel

ancient failure

abject penitent

powerless to plead

to all these enchanted eyes

my god delusion


Drowning in memory grasping

my own debris

as it passes


the last feather to outweigh

my guilty soul



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[]The Thrill of the Chase


I came in nineteen forty-three;

You are a child compared to me!

But every year we share a date

In January; we celebrate

Four seasons more since we were born

In late, ambitious Capricorn.


At eight, you’re racing in your Kart;

At eight I’m winning with my art

And then my writing – oh, the thrill

Of chasing prizes! Love it still.

But by the time you came to be

A champion driver in F3

I raced toward another goal,

The understanding of the soul.


Came the millennium, came F1

And Pluto transiting our Sun.

You diced with Kimi, Massa, Seb

As I went hunting on the web

For information, dates and times,

For synonyms and perfect rhymes.


One decade ended, one began;

From Oz to Yas you were The Man,

Jenson; you had chased and won

Your longed-for moment in the sun.

And I? … was being born again

After the years and years of pain,

After my Jesus’ great surprise,

After so many fruitless tries

To greet the waiting world on-line,

I built a Site. Entirely mine.


Now I can hunt for distant friends,

And show them where my rainbow ends;

Share the excitement of this chase

To comprehend the human race

As tiny shards of the Divine

Through Sun and planet, arc and sign.


And you? … are stepping from your car,

Drawn to where the athletes are.

Your F1 training made you trim

And super-fit to run and swim,

To cycle Riviera hills;

You still need racing and its thrills.

Another track, a wider smile,

Pushing your limits mile on mile.


What are we chasing? Money? Fame?

The fire inside us is the same,

Both driving – driven – for a prize

Which no amount of money buys:

The joy that yet again we’ve done

Our Maker proud – and it was fun!



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On my right, the voices of love and hope.

On my left, the voices of pain and war.

Between extremities there is so much scope

For the soul’s philosophising ; we can soar


On wings as angels – oh, how like a god!

Or fall beneath the bloody boot, the rod

Of iron, or the bitter ghosts of ice.

Be wary, Man, for God does not play dice.



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Loving, eternal Father of us all,

Blessed and praised with so many holy names!

Open our hearts and eyes to the light of your Kingdom,

Inspire our minds and hands till the world of souls

Can work your Will in harmony with the Heavens.


Fling wide for us the door of your compassion,

And help us to trust the wisdom of your giving;

And as we learn to long for what is good,

To face our folly, and make our recompense,

Grace us with Truth:

We all are the One Life;

Forgiving each other in love is the end of fear.


Through the enlightened mind,

Through the compassionate heart,

Through the subjected will,

Draw us into your Glory and our joy!


Amen, amen, amen.



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It is now night.

The little town

Is scattered with happy light.

He turns to her he loves

In the attic room -

‘Go down

And bring the water, darling,

That we must

Take home.’

She gathers bottles, kisses him

And leaves

Amid the sleepy murmur of settling doves

Under the hotel eaves,

Managing the uncomfortable stair

To a thin door,

Steep paths,

And warm velvet Pyrenean air.


The hot day’s diesel


The café-bars

Reel with visiting Irish, blarney arms

Around their mates.

She skirts foreign cars

Down into the main street,

Into the swell

Of pilgrims, past the late

Bright kiosks, the emporia;

She has let her feet

Feel their own way, carry her

Into the heart of Lourdes,

Into the evening throng,

A people-river in which she is borne along.


And it is then

Amid the images

Of plastic basilicas, and Bernadettes,

Candles, rosaries and grotto sets,

Of Mary in roses,

Mary pierced with swords,

Mary in flashing rainbows,

Mary on clouds

That amid the crowds

She is met; and entered.

It is then she knows

This evening is extraordinary

Because on her walk for water

She is one with Mary.


The arms open wide; she is God’s daughter.

Into the darkness she is streaming love

Out of a double heart

And all the people can see as she passes by

(Could they perceive such things)

It is Heaven’s eye

That lights on them

And the hands, the fingers

That pour forth crippled souls’ healing

Lift from her like wings.


She has been set apart;

And the ineffable sweetness of Our Lady lingers

Even when she has entered the Domain,

Lightly touching the lonely,

Those in pain,

The nuns, the nurses, patient volunteers,


Her love untiring

To the hopeless, to the devout

Clutching their souvenirs

At the holy spring,

To the merely curious and to those barely living

The infinite healing loveliness streams out.


Mary is in her as she fills each flask

At the spigots, Mary behind her eyes

In the torchlight.

Around her the old rocks and worn buildings rise.

She is not allowed to make an offering,

Even to ask

If it would be right

To save the basilica and its crumbling steeple.

Words come onto her own lips silently,

‘Buildings are not important. Only people.’


She and Our Lady turn to make their way

Out of the town.

Now she is climbing steps that she came down

When she was still alone.

‘Look by your feet!’

There in the stone

Is a perfect image of Mary and her Child.

In the pitch dark on her PDA

The picture is drawn and filed.

Then, the journey complete,

Mary is gone.


Up in the hotel room, herself again,

She hands holy water to the dearest of men,

Is kissed,

Has been, as ever, missed.

How was she back so late

Leaving him so painfully long to wait

Instead of coming straight

From the Domain? …


Even to him,

In her transfigured state,

Can she explain?



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My bond with you

Is not the binding of a superstition -

I have not said

‘To guarantee good luck I’ll follow You.’

I do not wear your symbol as a charm.


My care of you

Is not the care that comes of obligation;

I will not pay

Attention to you by man’s calendar,

Nor do the will of any less than you.


My work for you

Is driven not by greed for recognition

Nor by the need

To compensate for some great weight of sin;

Because you ask me, I do everything.


My words for you

Cannot be pages of propitiation -

Awe and fear,

Eulogies, interminable prayer,

Begging and preaching, you will never hear.


And when I greet you

I will not bow, or kneel, or bend my head;

I cannot meet

Your steady gaze that way. I will not turn

My face, nor stay away,

My Friend,

From your embrace.



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If I would sing a song to God

Then I must sing a song for Man -

And I must sing it from the heart

As freely as an angel can.


If I would sing a song for Man,

Then I must sing for every Tree -

For every leaf that breathes my breath,

And every branch that shelters me.


If I would sing of Man and Tree

The song must be of Sun and Rain,

Of feeding bird and humble bee

Who sow the green of wood and plain.


If I would sing of Tree and Rain,

Then I must hymn the dancing Sea

Who pounds the land from stone to sand,

Whose silver gifts of cloud are free.


If I would sing of cloud and Sea,

I serenade the mighty Moon;

For in her palm are Storm and Calm,

Her children with the Lord of Noon.


If I would sing of Sea and Moon

I lift my praises to the Sun

Who governs all from Spring to Fall,

The Life, the joy in everyone.


If I would sing of Moon and Sun,

The silver Queen, the golden King

Whose light reveals what God conceals

In every heart – to God I sing!



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Love me, love my god

I go in fear of peace I promise me

Do not unravel him

he at the heart of death in wait for me


Who preys on all men’s prayer

I web the world he with my spinneret

Up fly and catch

Promise and arthropomorphic dream


Star set in a man’s skull

His morning beads a myriad I count

With him we tell

And wait for the updraught dawn dusk underwing


O silver god-hand I

Make to be at the last enlaced and all

Manner of many

Legged unwary other me o give us manna


Before making love to the

Last rose o beautifully bind us

Before the real

Unapprehended fang of our own myth grinds in



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[]Water – Sky – Fire – Earth


We came, swimming

amid the sound of mermaid tails

and elders chanting – the tales they gave

of ancient drowning murmured across

rhythms of whale song

the whole sea hymning


Into the clouds we came

and lost ourselves

the sound of hills growing

as they gave back the gift of rain

stilled us as the heaven moved across

our consciousness

as known, just as unseen


Out of the core we came

dragons of old old story

spoke with the sound of flame

courted the heroes’ swords

they gave us an evil name

robbed us and maimed us sorely

yet we remain the same

guards of the golden hoards


We came in secret

from our deep mole-homes

in the blinding dark

the sound of grass growing

of worm feeding

gave us direction, tunnelling across

nobody else’s vision



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[]1Clouds On The Horizon


The clouds on the horizon

Are the spirits of the Bison

And they bellow in the thunder

With a fury at the plunder

Of the masters of the plains.

(Oh the pitiful remains!)


The clouds on the horizon

Are the spirits of the Bison.

In the glory of the lightning

Is the beautiful and frightening

Accusation of their eyes.

(Oh the sorrow of the skies!)


The clouds on the horizon

Are the spirits of the Bison;

They are crowding, they are coming,

And the Warriors are drumming

And the people of the gun

Haven’t anywhere to run.


From horizon to horizon

Sweeps the triumph of the Bison,

He has put his mighty shoulder

To the cataract and boulder;

Men will answer for their greed

In the heavenly stampede.


The clouds on the horizon

Are the spirits of the Bison.

They will spare all those who love them,

Passing harmlessly above them -

But the Cities of the Plain

Have to learn it all again.


Wail for sons and weep for daughters

Taken by the scouring waters;

Rage at industry and spire

Lost to earthquake, wind and fire.

Ah, the spirits of the Bison

Are the clouds on your horizon…



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Sing songs of the dark font where I was named,

And of her I seek,

Who comes from the same chill God-house

and milked with me

And who was named

Her name and my name, Silence,

We one and many.


We women weave still our intricate small spells,

Those webs of time

To catch the best of the world’s uneasy beauty.

The thread is hard

And wonderful wild and delicate

In our hands.


There is You, though, with power to ease, always,

To manipulate

My each most dedicated tapestry.

Your day dawns,

Your shadow on the loom, and

I can do nothing.


I can no longer walk in the mind-forest I made

And reach for her,

My sister down every avenue waiting.

Caught in my maze of

Little grey rags when You with your laser-light


Oh You with your great gold humming shield before you

Fend them off in the dark undergrowth

To cower

Abject and unprotected, I gone from them.



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Come to my hills.

Come with me in a dream;

You’ll not remember.


My lonely power extends

through every singing fibre of the wind.

See, out of the mist

swim mountains towards my fingers.

Out of the shadow of clouds

come lakes!


Facing the vastness,

watch me summon the wind.

It will blow through your heart and mine

till my eyes are seeing crystals

and you are stilled by the springing ice in your blood.


There is no horizon.

To the white edge of time

I have brought you

to know what I know of the wide power

that quickens the world.


Take it, take it

and keep it. The darkness comes

softly between us from the forgotten valleys,

bringing stars.


There is no light anywhere;

you will not remember.

But here in the stillness of night

you have known the power,

you have lifted the wheel of heaven

that lies in my arm;

you have touched the skin of God,

and looked at me.


Long out of your dream,

you shall look at me so again, one day, in a room;

pause, sensing the reason …

… and not remember.



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I saw the god in the mist that moved

And in the ground I heard him.

I felt his fear along my limbs,

And in my womb I feared him.


He showed me where his beauty was

And where the truth lay sleeping

Under a blighted tree. I wept,

And all mankind was weeping.


I wept for eyes that could not see

because they sought a reason,

And hands that murdered God – dead to

Their terrible blind treason.


The trees I love! The skies I love!

I mourn for them and cry,

For axe and flame are on the tree,

And wreckage in the sky.


And limbs are lost in ugliness,

And passions lurk and fester.

The night still flowers sweet for man -

How long since he has blessed her!


A red moon holds for him no fire,

The earth shakes him no fear.

Poor lovely stupid man, what wrath

Can prove the god is near?


Must stars claw out your eyes, and trees

Bear down to bring you to your knees?

Must grasses shrivel under rain,

And lightning rot the standing grain,

And worlds be hammered into dust,

The victims of incurred disgust?


My fear went into the mist that moved;

The god was in my hearing.

A tremor passed through the earth I loved

And all mankind was fearing.



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I am Orphea.

Creatures come to me.

I sing, they come,

I am their healing.

I am mother of

All the love-lorn,

I am a tree

For every bird.


I am a rock

For those who drown,

I am the house

Of all the homeless,

I am the hand

That feeds the hungry,

I am the path

The lost may follow,


I am a fire

To warm the lonely.

But for Orphea

Who is a haven?

Who will comfort

Orphea’s hunger?

The breast of a hill

So dry and hard?


Orphea roofless

Who will shelter?

The winter trees

Or a draughty sky?

Who will sing to her?

Who loves Orphea?

Only the sun

Whose arms are generous,


Never the moon,

So cold and contrary.

Orphea yearns,

The moon disdains her.

There is no cure

For Orphea’s sorrow.

Who will comfort

The lonely singer?



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Man, you know, is no longer Man. I’ve seen

Unlaboured efforts on the part of God

To hold him up to ridicule. I wish He would

Be wrathful – compassionate – something in between …

But not so rude.


He falls away

In vast dudgeon, whirled in a breath of stars.

Exasperating little Man! You had your way;

And may it do you good to appal Him grey

At the godless genius of motor-cars!


Abandoned to angels – Mercury and Michael,

Lucifer who likes us – we carry on abusing

The beauty we thought we could understand, foolishly choosing

(Instead of leaping naked) a wonky cycle

And hat-losing.


How we amuse

Our disconcerting audience, and grieve!

They must be disappointed, but the means they use

In making up for this are sheer abuse

Of all a god is able to achieve;


For why not work some sort of miracle?

Why not make us perfect - just like that! -,

Instead of watching all the nonsense, all the tat,

Too destructive to be comical,

Sprawl from the Challenger Deep to Ararat?


Of course, they can.

But these are not the gods to whom we pray

If we are sufficiently perceptive as to plan

Posthumous privilege. Oh, He began

When we first let Him down to wander away


And left us to the lesser deities

Who, I am much afraid, have little mercy

Now that God has turned His back on us, so tersely

Non-committal – “That’s the way it is.

So, let them curse me!” …



Finding failure bitter and more alone,

Alone with a Mistake among the stars. “Oh shoot me

Happy with if any perfect one!

In self-extinction, what an end of duty!


Magnificent! I am Creation’s quick,

And nothing now is perfect save My being;

Deleting that, nothing perfection, and therefore (agreeing

That ultimate pure perfection is what I seek)

Perfection – Nothing.”


The little gods laugh.

They pick up their lightnings, greased in a flash, and hurled

Through Immortality (unwounded as a loch

Showered with pine-pins at the brink) to scoff

Omnipotence stripped of self-rule and runaway world.



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No greater darkness is there known

Than when the Old Malefic One

Intrudes upon the Over-Sun,

Between the soul and Heaven’s throne.


Yet every soul on circling Earth

Is core and crown of radiant Light

And all are glorious in the Night

To bring divinity to birth.


For under Saturn’s murmuring ring

The little will for right or wrong

May listen for a mightier song

And join itself to Everything …


Caught in a leaden chord of Time,

If it is silent, patient, still

The soul will pulse to its Father’s Will,

A twin to Love and Joy sublime.


Without the ancient Dweller there

No little Sun with feet of flame

Could play the holy hero’s game

With ladders of the Reaper’s hair.


Over the wall of dark and death

We climb (or else die whimpering there)

- And find it a triumphant stair

To Lightning and the Holy Breath.


O Sun of Suns, O Mystery,

You wait for us beyond the wheel,

Spinning our reason to conceal

Your hands upon our history.


O Mind of Minds, our journey’s end,

Your wisdom set the Ring-Pass-Not

Where men become the Fools of God

Or of the self. Here waits our Friend.



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I looked on Jupiter by night

Too large, a red and dusky light

Which in a spasm spread the sky

To blind, engulf and terrify.



I stand with others in a room;

Out of the window all is still.

Nothing but water meeting sky.

My Master calls beyond the sill.



We gather in a holy place

To pray. I see my Lady’s face

And figure stream with sparkling light

And I am lifted to the height

Of floating incense through Her grace

Higher than prayer. All who see

Wonder, and wait for prophecy.



We reap the whirlwind. Houses fall.

Amid the gale, my Lord I call -

“This is your house, and we are yours!

Stilled instantly, the storm withdraws.



Men sit or stand, await the Word.

“You must seek out your chosen Lord,

You are the one to forge the bond

Till He embraces you beyond.

Yours are the words, the striving love

Requited in the realms above.”



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Candles do flare, my friend;

The dark responds

To the mind’s fingering.

Even the fear you feel

Is very real,

Alone, and walking

Motionless up a dream of stairs

Leading to pain and sorrow where she lies

Too close to her forebears.

The night may come to your call;

One flame may form

A spire, and a woman live.

If you are wise, however, you will give

All thanks to God you did not lose yourself.



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To be a light to lighten the Gentiles

He set you in the midst of speaking women -

Women who sleeping speak,

Who are waged by war -

And the glory of His people Israel

Is your keepsake

As an old god marches through Faversham

In his sleep, in his sleep,

And they turn where his head turns

From fire and cloud,

Bespoke women who turn to the old stones -

Blind pumice, circle of basalt -

Unable to watch you rise

In full Sun.



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“There is a silver lining to each cloud…”

I heard you whispering the words aloud

As you lay dying. By the hospice bed

A cup of sterile water; overhead

The drip that gave you some relief from pain -

Until the crisis took your breath again.


You smiled at me, and looked toward the door;

The strangest look I’d never seen before.

A light was in your face and hollowed eyes,

One faint gasp … of joy? Or of surprise?

One frail hand was raised a little, then

Let fall on the pristine sheet again.


“Please don’t go!” I took your slender fingers.

“Nothing is worse than a life that lingers

Once the call of Paradise has come,”

You whispered. “Everything I am is numb

Except my Self, my mind; it longs to fly

And watch this worn-out woman’s body die.”


I said, “I shall be with you to the end

And pray to God that you are right, dear friend.”

You stared at me at last, your eyes were shining.

“This is the fleeting cloud with the silver lining,

The dark nimbus of your misery.

Be happy! With my death my love is free

And every grateful thought of you a kiss

That you will feel; an unimagined bliss,

An understanding never fully known

To you before, a truth you will be shown.


“The point of life is ultimately found

Only in giving the body to the ground,

The spirit going home. I leave behind

The Earth’s great school for the growing mind,

The whole rich curriculum of life -

Children, mother, lover, sister, wife,

Work, worries, friendship, some success…

Please be happy for my happiness!”


And in that moment you were gone. I saw

Nothing rise, or leave … but where before

Vividly there was you, only a shape

Remained, witness to your Great Escape.

I touched your cooling hand, I felt your brow -

Nothing here to animate them now.

Where was the childhood friend so dear to me?

Surely more than a fragile memory?


Nurses bustled round the curtained bed.

Kindly, “You’ll need a cup of tea,” they said.

“Come back up here in fifteen minutes, then

You can be quiet with your friend again.”

I did; I did. And briefly was allowed

One precious, holy moment; for my cloud

Was torn apart – the ward, the world was shining

With everlasting life, the silver lining.



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[]1The Entertainer

(A Double Acrostic)


The Entertainer

His life on the line

Enters his prison.

Ecce Houdini …

Nail-biting drama

Tears at his contract;

End of career?

Royal theatre …

Taking his moment

Anchored in iron

In that display case;

No hope of rescue.

Exit. The last breath

Rises triumphant.



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God knows about anemones,

He knows about the winkle,

He knows about the night, and why

The constellations twinkle.


He knows about the mother moon

Who lullabies the river

And rocks the cradle of the deep

Asleep in sheets of silver.


He knows where all the starry dust

In dusky earth is hidden,

And why the tiny turtle seeks

The sea unseen, unbidden.


He knows about volcanoes, and

The sparrow in the gutter

He even knows why Frances felt

The urge to make some butter!



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Some thing is sheep-dogging me.

It drives me over the field of my desires

Crouching patch-eyed at the boundary,

A swift snarl plugging each gap in the wires.


Every circle I make toward the outer sky

After the worn ground, is nipped back

In a belly-streak, determined I shall die

Of circumscription; not for any lack


Of tears for what I might be, me and my brethren -

We have huddled askance and shot star-like apart

To confuse and out-flank our enemy; but whether in

Sheer stupidity or lack of heart


We fail, and are whipped in by a whistle, who knows.

We stare silly at the same trough and the same tree

In the same chewed patch where nothing new grows,

Consoling ourselves with familiarity.


We know the way so well. We have, amid usual mayhem,

Rutted here, hating our poor fellows;

The hound’s eye rolls reflected in each of them.

Our only heaven is one clump of willows


Under an April rainbow – as I mate

In the dog-watch the unsuspected eye

Snapping each vain attempt to procreate

A vision of free hills and a different sky …


I would stand outside the fence, you see. I would lean there,

Once out, not escape. I would not like to strand

My old company, but show them the fresh air

And all the patterns vanishing from my hand.



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Let there be love for every living form,

Love for the coal, the diamond and the tree;

Love for all eyes, for star, for meteor-swarm -

Glory be to God for all of Three.


Let there be life for every loving thing,

Life for the Light that out of Glory grew;

Life for the Harmony my soul can sing -

Glory be to God for all of Two.


Let there be Fire for every holy heart,

Fire understanding; Fire for duty done;

Fire for the rapture of God’s rejoining part -

Glory be to God for All of One.



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Help me – oh help me endure.

One touch from your finger-tip, fierce glory,

Is enough!

All that is darkest in me rises to the surface

Of my soul,

That which is dross, impure

Is borne up on the tide of my lanced love

My Lord, my Jesus, for you take me whole

To make the hopeless holy.


You have harpooned your struggling fish, O Man-God,

Master of Seas!

It is your net I fear far more than your will’s sword,

Unvanquished Jesus!

It is your net – the stifling shock of shoals hauled asunder,

Outpoured as silver at your wounded feet;

The terror and glory

Is my drop lost already in your ocean.



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( A Double Etheree )





a soft mist lies

Our nets arc outward

Fishing is poor today

The wet mesh only lifts weed

And we have a living to make

Somehow. Andrew gasps, points to the prow -

There stands Jesus, who had not come with us.


“Cast to the other side,” he says. The mast

Swings as we haul water-heavy net

To starboard; we stagger righting

The boat, every rope tightens,

Each muscle taut, Peter

Staring at Jesus -

Then at the shoal -

Then Jesus

on the




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The child whose eyes are full of stars

That burn the hills of broken cars,

The man whose smile is like the sun,

whose only wealth is everyone -

Jesu, we lift our light to Thee

To glorify their poverty.


The girl as simple as the moon

robbed of her innocence too soon;

The mothers who are left to pray

For sons and husbands locked away -

Jesu, we lift our light to Thee

To shine in their captivity.


The bones upon the searing plain

Too weak to reach for milk or grain;

The hands that cry from fields of blood

Dying in debris, war, and mud -

Jesu, we lift our light to Thee

To guide us to Eternity.



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Give me my share of the power of the mountains

And my part of the trees’ prayer.

Give me the wind to quicken my feet

And the birds to sing to.


Let me remember roses

And that rainbows begin in cloud,

That the sky has wept oftener than I,

And that tears may sleep in the quiet kiss of the grass.


Give me the love of man,

And fill it with light

So that my heart is not weighed down with wings,

But make it the gay feather on which I fly.



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Dear God, I touch the hem of your listening darkness

with my heart;

And my lips are filled with light.

Clambering on the vanishing treads of prayer,

Each thought’s finger strains in outreach unto you;

And it is wholly there, Mind close in for the strong force

To fuse Mind Holy with lowlier mind;

As a fine bead breaks of dew, runs at a water’s touch,

is lost in the pool.

As a passion of wind and wave claps cloud

and the soaring sea together

Rapt in the silent eye of the vortex.

O God, I am a moving stillness within you:

But touch my need with the finest filament of your Will,

Time is re-woven.



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When you first came – your clarion sounded by a thousand fables -

Nobody noticed you, hid in your own shadow,

Nobody saw the Man behind the winding-sheet

Who opened his arms wide and called to the children;

Who opened his arms wide with a lovely smile

And touched the amazing glass for all to see

In the bending light your face…bare Love breaks through a fissure of time

In which the heart, the Earth, and the Sun, stop.


And the second time,

You blew like pollen through a thousand hearts

Lighting the grains of love into a flare;

Striking like a match dry nerves, and in a running flame

Catching the hands of the unprepared, of the unwary,

Catching the hands of the dancers in delight

And running with their messages of love

All over the Universe.

We are astonishment, we whose wide eyes were burnt open;

Bursting like stars on the firmament of fear.


The third Coming comes in a blue silence. Those

Who have understood, bowing their melting eyes

To the Infinite as the liquid Love of the Will of the Father

Floods and flows over the last banks of our history,

Floods and flows white as our burning blood,

Yielding with utmost grace each heart to the Inconceivable

As gaunt brothers tower in fear over a brief terrain

And are taken, all, with the body of the world.


And are faced, all, by the eyes of Christ in the blue silence



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Christ is your Creed, your high endeavour;

He that is Love let none deny.

You are the loved, without Him never -

In shadow and sunlight standing by.


Christ is your Truth, your God, your Saviour;

Ye are no wiser than His Word.

Dutiful be in all behaviour

Unto that Song the soul has heard.


No-one is lost; His dearest pleasure

Is ever to be our homeward Guide,

Gathering slowly all his treasure

Of human hearts to the Angels’ side.


Lord of our Joy, no tongue can praise you

More than the Christed soul can sing!

Beacon of Love in Heaven ablaze, You

Reign in our hearts as the Pilgrim King.



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You walk among us, and we become

Incandescent. Who are You?

You are the Light of the world, our life’s flame

Opening bone and nail to reality.


Our liquid lives run away from the last cry

Cross-hatched with pain, melting into Your feet

To bear You mutely as the waters bore You -

All we can do, to make this Death complete


Is haul our Tree down to the rising tide,

The debris-ridden sea we call a soul.

Back in the lovely desert of our lies

The weight of it seared us, old and black as coal.


Nothing behind us but the wastes of time,

Nothing before us but the Saviour’s face,

Like mad men we float out on the Cross

To enter You. In the dirtiest, holiest place.



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A little child I do not know

With a stone broke my window.

The beautiful glass, all shattered and smashed

Lay on the floor where it had crashed,

Its jewelled colours alive no more -

In fragments dead upon the floor.


Mother Mary’s gentle face

Was cracked and holed in many a place.

Her soft-draped cloak of heavenly blue

That glowed like love when the sun shone through

Was torn from the limbs of the Virgin Queen

And there was a hole where her heart had been.


The cruel stone lay there below.

I picked it up and with sorrow

Bluring my sight with tears unshed,

My mind numbed and my heart like lead,

Wearily over the glass I stepped,

Sat down on a chair, and wept.


(Written when I was thirteen.)



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Jesus Christ is ours today,

His Sun will shine on straight and gay!

Leave the trivial, leave the smart

And come to the Lover that’s in your heart.


Come with a whoop or come with the gall,

Come if you’re ill or you’re not at all.

Up the ladder where angels fall -

A Cup and Loaf will serve us all!



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One day which never existed,


in solitary rage surprised Himself with a Thought

so unsustainable in the here-to-fore

He cracked the unflawed sheer shimmer

of Monad in Equilibrium,

He broke Mind

mirrored in all directions,

He shivered Infinity

and the incorporeal mighty Hand that held it,

thus beginning seven days of Bad Luck

as Time was born

in the vortex.


Being God,

Resourceful, He stretched forth His other hand

upon the vortex, with an opposite charge -

And Said: LET THERE BE LIGHT, and There Was Light

flashing from splinter to splinter, aeon to age;

suns of a shattered hand blinked fire into and out of a myriad million dizzy reflections

glinting Godhead back,

curled time-shards

reduplicating spin-drift, inkblot, starclot and coalsack -

by which light a God could see His scattered parts


And Being 

God, He Said:


Asunder upon the wind of

My unparalleled Imagination,


plus-minus meets in the heart of light

a microcosmic god in the anti-mind, for this

is Matter of Moment; let there be Life, therefore,

so let there be Soul – let there be male, and female

warring and mating; let there be holes for light to penetrate,

dramatic poles, north and south in collision, upwards, down -

as in My excess I find

sorrow I cannot drown

in the necessity

for light to

mend Me by,

so will my Self,


twin of Me and


be lover of that Light,

his flesh a bandage for My fractured dignity

for a seven-night.


Till then,

Let every action have its equal and opposite reaction.

Let there be

Polarity, pendulum, fractal, parabola

And parity.


Thus Spake God …


… One Day that suddenly existed, as

a myriad million fragments of Forever

took their first lesson in strife and alchemy;

towards which sex, war, succour, science and sainthood,

the long, vain struggle to tie the strings of symphonies

between grass and the galaxy, Caligula and Christ -

So many poles of puzzlement, poor man-thing! -

making itself slowly in God’s other image,

feet on a star, head in the coalsack.


God forgot

to make men like snails. Here it is Sunday lunch

And still we have not mapped our route for the last afternoon

of our life; the future winks only briefly at us

out of the healing mirrors.

Some are struggling

To put their eyes out on stalks and see around corners

of the inconceivable before the last trump

is played, the last supper indigested and

the disbelievable unMichaelangelic Hand

reach forth to converge the silver trails

of the slow, vulnerable, visionary sun

housing the soul in helix.

Here they come,

a few at a time,

the unrejected cells;

a Miracle is made.

The Wound



Thy Hand, O God

may close the eyes of Time – but it is built of us!…

We who have put out the cat may be most unwilling to

put out the stars the cat and we have hunted our dreams by,

may be discontent;


may fidget with the smoothed fabric of Space,

finger the substance of the Maker’s Dream,

flex the muscles of a new idea -


Spring a surprise.



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On Astrology




Jeff, John and Ron -

All gone.

Mayo, Addey and Davison.

Charles Harvey and Charles Jayne;

Al H. Morrison.


The quiet teachers,

The mercurial out-reachers,

The wired-world explorers,

Sacrificing self for us.


Walker, Elliot, Woodruff

Achieved enough

And they are gone

To the real

With Jim, Howard, Neil -

Lewis, Sasportas and Michelson.


The men of presence,

The laid-back and the intense,

The spiritual mothers,

The many unforgotten others.


Rudhyar, Ruperti, Ebertin

Have now been

Where all is known

And Moby Dick is, Johndro, Maurice Wemyss

To whom we are dreams.

Ingrid Lind. Ada and Ivy. Margaret Hone.


Jacob, and Olivia, and Michel -

Schwartz and Barclay and Gauquelin -

Shine on where all is well

With our wise-women and our starmen.


Now we are the teachers,

We are the out-reachers;

They before, beside us, behind us

Invisibly remind us.



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You used to be my friend;

Such is the price of fame,

That partnership would end

Once you had made your name.


I found you at my door;

I taught you all I knew.

The glamour that you wore

An amusing part of you.


The showman and the mage

Reached for the wheels of time,

Spun them on every page,

Made them your pantomime.


Now here’s the photograph,

That weekend in July

When I made people laugh …

You never said Goodbye.


And here’s the quarter-page,

The store, the famous face;

And here’s the West End stage;

And Strictly in eighth place.


Here’s the remark you made,

Burned on a DVD,

The moment you betrayed

Your soul, to be rid of me:


The stars that lit your way,

All that I value dearly

You still exploit for pay

Yet were a hobby, merely.


Once, you always swore

Never to fail a friend,

And now one heart is sore

Which you refuse to mend.


If I am to forgive,

Leap from the turning wheel,

Abort its narrative …

If we are both to heal,


Deep in the heart of light

My bitterness, my shame

Must die, and I rewrite

The price we pay for fame.



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[]Macrocosm in Microcosm …

23 Senryu on Astrological Technique




Core values. The Sun

Counted from the Dragon’s Head.

Trunk of an old tree.


Nodic arc – a fine

Anagram of Draconic.

And hears God …!






Light streams from the Equinox

Nests, broken branches





The great scheme of things

One small world set in the stars

Tree in a landscape





I behind the eye -

On the twelfth step of Being

Life enters and leaves





Check for vital signs -

Faults glare, gifts shine in God’s Eye

Hidden agendas





Squaring the Circle

Warp and weft of painted Light

Flying your colours





My time – flying hands

Turn up the deal of the day.

You are my transit.





Great expectations -

My riches under your Dragon

Turning to fool’s gold





Striking a chord, you

Remind me of who I am

Joining of forces





Back to the future,

Forward to yesterday – I

Am a splash in time





All over the map

Shock arrows of energy,

Threes isosceles





Keep in formation

Pilgrim, join the dragon train

Onward and upward





Days of babyhood

Mapping my years creeping hands

Gathering planets





Both Angles flaunt a

Star, or a natal planet -

E is MC squared!…





From the Beginning

Were the Words. In lettered rock

God’s Britannica





Raising by degrees

One circle to such heavens

Oh imagine spheres





Journeying, your world

Known from different angles.

New houses. New you





All my selves true child

Of the whole of heaven 

Mind Squeezed to a pinpoint





The sign, the turned wheel

Unlocking vaults of the soul

With twelve keys of gold





Here’s the score: play well

Or badly, the metronome

Ticks to the last bar.





Rewind history -

Somewhere on the wheel your time

Cradles the future





Under the weather?

Everything on edge? Only

Going through a phase!



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(Aries) …… Teach me how to be,

(Libra) …… And be aware,

(Taurus) …. Teach me how to have,

(Scorpio) … And how to share,

(Sagittarius) .Teach me to understand

(Gemini) …. As well as know;

(Cancer) …. Teach me how to root,

(Capricorn) . And how to grow.

(Leo) ……… Teach me how to love

(Aquarius) .. And to be free,

(Virgo) …… To be of service;

(Pisces) …… And to come to Thee.





They Who Kiss Mind

The Return

The Thrill of the Chase


Our Lord’s Prayer


Amor Christi

A Song to God



Clouds on the Horizon


Come to my Hills



The Little Gods Laugh


Porta Coeli

The Healer

She Who Has Come Through

The Silver Lining

The Entertainer

God Knows About Anemones

He Maketh Me to Lie Down in Green Pastures




Jesu, We Lift Our Light to Thee



The Coming

The Pilgrim King

Walking on the Waters

The Virgin Window

Nursery Rhyme

Big Bang

The Late, Great …

The Price of Fame

Macrocosm in Microcosm

The Astrologer’s Prayer



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Pam has been a poet since she was seven years old; it was only when she joined her local Writers’ Club that she found she could also write short stories.

She has been a Christian astrologer for most of her life, is well known in that community, and is the author of two books plus many articles in the Astrological Association Journal (for which she compiles the regular Cryptic Crossword.)

You can find her website at http://revpamcrane.weebly.com.


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'Testament' is an anthology of spiritual poetry by Pam Crane. Many are strongly Christian in their theme, but by no means all, as her experience has embraced many other dimensions including spiritualism, reincarnation and direct inspiration. Her whole spiritual life is here, from an early intuition of the universality of God and appreciation of other beliefs, to the Christian conviction that in 1993 brought her to ordination as a Deacon in the Liberal Catholic Church. For over twenty years she had been an astrologer, and still researches and teaches in this field; unusually (but not uniquely) she has combined her astrological skill and philosophy with her Christian life, informing much of her writing. There is a very broad spectrum of spiritual experience in this collection which may appeal to readers of many faiths or those as yet uncommitted but willing to be inspired.

  • ISBN: 9781370116683
  • Author: Pam Crane
  • Published: 2017-05-22 15:05:10
  • Words: 7645
Testament Testament