Word Horde/Via Dolorosa
This poem is, among other things, an exercise in outrageous elocution.
Word Horde/Via Dolorosa
At Pentecost a dove dove down,
From war-storm a sword bestowed
On those who would work the words of war.
Roar forth, o Lord, your powerful Word.
Show forth, o Lord, your dolorous sword.
Roar forth your sword! Show forth your Word!
Go forth, o host of God,
Boast your hoard of Words, o Word Horde!
Go ordered forth, you warriors robed in flow.
Your cords fount poems.
Your founts spout prose.
Host of God, your Words the powers plunder.
Our Words are swords, cord-woven,
Hallowed for power, worthy of war.
Stones clove,
Towers toppled,
Strong holds thrown down.
Go forth, o host of God, upon the dolorous road,
Follow where it roam.
Work the woven warp of the world,
Your wonder words.
Hope for glow of home post road.
The flow you rode soared toward glory,
In the House of the Lord your repose a reward.
Show your God your notched and bloody sword,
Joyful boast in your Lord:
the floods forded, walls unworked, towns took.
Look Lord, look: we rode the road, we worked the war.
Our Words were swords,
Our hearts founted poems,
Our founts spouted prose.
Locutus sum, his mouth is a sword,
We warred as our Lord, our hope and our doom.
O horde of God, hard your road, long your war.
When soul is flown, study war no more.
The House of Hosts holds soldiers to one work:
A Song was sung, a Word was spoke.
Written on Pentecost Monday, anno domini 2023, the 570th anniversary of the Fall of Constantinople.