Monday Poem

“I beheld till the thrones were cast down, and the Ancient of days did sit, whose garment was white as snow, and the hair of his head like the pure wool: his throne was like the fiery flame, and his wheels as burning fire.” —Daniel 7:9

William Blake’s Mandala

in Blake’s split mandala
Being asymmetrically stoops
to lay dualism on the world—
cleaves philosophers’ minds,
inspires theologians to settle scores,
undoes the unity of chaos,
splits it to bits to fuel
fires of war

Being stoops— this buff,
man-like self curiously in his prime,
with ancient head coiffed white

—raking wind gusts furiously
through heaven’s open door—

Being scribes zero with a compass,
leaves nothing out, all is in

from his plush, sanguinary perch
he loads the night with that and this,
here and there, was and is, now and then,
tendering to us a dubious sense of bliss,
propping all its characters for a fall,
but uplifted, countered with a kiss—

.Jim Culleny
3/29/14; Revised 3/11/22
William Blake’s Ancient of Days