CARLO PARCELLI

 

Hod

 

I be a simple hod what

Every day load me sins

And bent like Jesus I ascend a

Calvary of me god’s own making

And as the tower beyond me rise

I glimpse through the sweat

Upon me eyes

A world without end,

And then unburdened of brick and mortar

Descend, as Jacob’s angels do

Where there lie boundless

Sand, water and lime to mix

And palettes of bricks no end.

This be me travail

Bowed as not to offend

The supernal gifts what await me

In heaven, I bear me

Daily increase of mortal crucifixions.

There be this Sisyphus

Is what they call the bloke,

He and I cloaked in a sort

A monumental joke

And the monuments I leave behind

Be gravestones of a most grievous kind.

Such simple things silent and bent

I repeat to keep me in bread and beer

Feed me brood and pay the rent.

As Jacob say, “Is this not the house of god?”

Indeed though its bread be leavened

It be for this old hod

Content a climb to heaven

Like Christ to Calvary

What to the last I climb down

To a plate of bangers and mash

And a half pound a stewed pig’s ear.

Me and Jacob once we slept out of doors

For3 years I be on Hackney Road

Dirt in me crawlins

And all covered wif sores.

It do be wif me back bent

A celestial ascent wif god as me boss,

Lost in thought what like the angels

Upon the ladder I serves me time.

For don’t Origen resolve thee be two ladders

One what bear the fruit of our labours

And one what slough the soul from the body

The rank and puny part a what we be.

And me hod be light

As the cross what be to me on earth.

And so as wise Nazianzus and Nyssa,

Both be Gregories, dun they now,

I use me back to glimpse heaven

And clamor down joyful

Me burden done

If but for one

As me heart be glad in god’s hands.

There be not a Simon on earth,

Road to Calvary or no,

What wants me job

Ascending the ladder

Even if one like me fancy it

Puts a bloke closer by a rod

Or two to a benevolent god.

Bold we stack earth to heaven

As springboard for our souls.

For the brick I be

Raises all to eternity.

 

I ne’er be a saint though of the same sod

As all we of Canterbury

Who found in our hearts a Christian god

And not find Augustine a gibbet.

Be it something in us what draw

This god from Rome

And raise matter to heaven, contra naturam

Conquered once again

But finding god by bliss in his indenture.

 

The beads of her rosary

Aye, what the missus took to her grave

In their repetition be the prayerful trance

And in me labour be me circle dance.

For dun this be an abbey

We build now here at Canterbury.

What Augustine whose life be

Told in in glass christened

In the colours of the firmament,

And so be I baptized wif all

Manner of light beaming down,

And receive Jesus upon me tongue

When me weekly labours be done.

And the celestial murmur

Of Gregory’s cant

In the halls with angelic praise

What the forty brothers raise.

Lift me to me task what hum

Our Pope’s gorgeous orisons.

 

And to recall our pagan interdicts

We build Saxon walls of Roman brick

To honor St. Pancras who

Left his head upon a Diocletian pike

And praised be he in god’s diadem

As we finish Sunday Easter

With a blessed hymn from Ephraem.

   

CARLO PARCELLI

 

Mr. CARLO PARCELLI is a poet living in the Washington DC area. He has published 6 books of poetry and in many journals and anthologies.  Like his colleague Aprilia Zank, he is also a National and International Beat Poet Laureate representing the State of Maryland 2017-2019.