Poetry Pleases: My Ceiling
Arthur Gilliland's poem is a confirmation of the fact that if you look at the world with imaginative eyes, you will be amazed by what you see.
A startling picture seized my wandering eye;
My ceiling wasn't painted white, flat, dull,
But lived with scenes of wondrous, mystic life.
A hand, long since, had dipped and cared and stroked,
And worked the brush to paint this small, quiet room;
It must have worked great magic in the pot.
I stared, a crack became a river wide,
Where passed along great wooden ships in sail.
Their cargoes richly rare, their names did point
To wondrous, undetected worlds afar.
Their crews, I saw as they sailed quietly near,
Were creatures strange and might have frightened me.
But peace they seemed to hold, and soothing calm,
As if a cloud, or vapour unbeknown,
Enveloped all, absorbed my latent fears.
Such peace they brought I closed astonished eyes,
And found myself caught up with them and theirs;
Their mundane tasks, it seemed, ran like our own;
They laboured, talked and passed the fleeing time;
As day withdrew they swiftly fled to hide.
The darkness, wrapping close this unknown world,
Was softened by the glow of eerie moons
Which spiralled as they crossed a threatening sky.
As these six moons traversed, and darkness pressed,
A different feel - a chilling moaning breeze -
Sprang eager from some lowly, hidden place.
This subtle air caught choking at my breath,
And sparked a fear which painful gripped my limbs,
Encouraged ghastly visions of restless sort,
And tempted me with honeyed, rich delights,
If I would only join their fiendish round.
Some dervish whirling wraiths fast seized my gaze;
I almost stepped, enraptured, to the dance.
When then I felt again the former peace,
And saw once more my ceiling, now transformed -
A richly glorious Michaelangelo scene,
With God there beckoning me to join His Host.
