E-L. Cartwright
Artist & Poet
Abbey Angelus
What see you, censing angel?
On Westminster’s north brow
Watching over centuries,
While scribes lie in the south.
“Kings and queens, and bishops,
The learned and the proud.
But above them,” the angel said,
“The poet in the crowd.”
“Blazing like a comet
With darkness all around,
The starry-eyed Colossus
Kept one foot on the ground.
Bestriding then two worlds
To reach at heaven’s hem,
And when he spoke, no fear he had:
I saw him not as other men.”
“Good day to you, Angelus!”
The poet-prophet cried.
“And heed all that I tell you,
For soon will be no time.”
“These balladeers shall rise again
And stones begin to shake
When heralding the Son’s return,
The poets shall awake.
As in tongues celestial,
What then should they sing?
‘Holy, holy, holiness.’
– The chorus final hymn.”
With that, the angel’s face
Turned into the stone.
And I, as in a daze,
Unthinking, journeyed home.
E-L Cartwright
© 2022
Abbey Angelus
What see you, censing angel?
On Westminster’s north brow
Watching over centuries,
While scribes lie in the south.
“Kings and queens, and bishops,
The learned and the proud.
But above them,” the angel said,
“The poet in the crowd.”
“Blazing like a comet
With darkness all around,
The starry-eyed Colossus
Kept one foot on the ground.
Bestriding then two worlds
To reach at heaven’s hem,
And when he spoke, no fear he had:
I saw him not as other men.”
“Good day to you, Angelus!”
The poet-prophet cried.
“And heed all that I tell you,
For soon will be no time.”
“These balladeers shall rise again
And stones begin to shake
When heralding the Son’s return,
The poets shall awake.
As in tongues celestial,
What then should they sing?
‘Holy, holy, holiness.’
– The chorus final hymn.”
With that, the angel’s face
Turned into the stone.
And I, as in a daze,
Unthinking, journeyed home.
E-L Cartwright
© 2022