“Oh, save now!”

Tag Archives: Poetry

O Cross, Our Only Hope



Throw your demons on the holy fire,
Watch them kindle brightly in the flames,
See the spinning spectres scorched and scared,
Perishing with all their sordid games,

Lo, the blood of Christ, too pure, too strong,
A bludgeon to the works and wiles of hell,
A serum for the sickness in our souls,
A mirror that reflects the devil’s spell,

There! Amid the booming drums of war,
Amid the smoke plumes dancing to the sky,
The ever-gleaming diamond of the truth,
Brightening creation gone awry,

Animate the faith within your breast,
To carve the holy path towards this light,
Fall into the soul-reshaping mould,
And catch the rays of God within your sight,

Here, the heavens bend to greet your way,
The blackness standing mute in silent streams,
Kneel and pray to God with earnest words;
“Usher up the peace that fills our dreams…”

Renfield H. Bizarre, 05.10.16

The Thread Upon the Loom



Dread blackness thrust into the dust,
Forced thither by the hand of God,
Waiting, lurking, in the earth,
Below the grass where Adam trod,

Sickly peering eyes look out,
Admiring those bright pastures fair,
With every low, impious thing,
Conjoined in one unholy glare,

Privation is the price of sin,
The loss that grinds upon the soul,
The hand that holds us muted, dumb,
The dank malaise of death’s control,

Wherein our hope? What future waits?
What ladder from the chasms bleak?
What monumental feat of man,
Describes the rapture that we seek?

The softly beaming star on high,
Aloft, beyond the cherubim,
The Christ! Undaunted in his work,
Commanding all the Nephilim,

A fellowship of powers pure,
A flock about the holy loom,
With Satan’s works, pulled on a thread,
To glory, from the nether gloom,

This cancer is a fleeting thing,
The wry mistrust that cripples men,
Hark, Gabriel! His cry is thus,
“Stand firm; the Christ will come again.”

Renfield H. Bizarre, 06.09.16

Christus Regnat



A silken spell, knit strong by highest hands,
Holding tight the seething ball of black,
Woven to perfection, sealed by God,
Equipped to brook the deadliest attack,

Within the flowing sackcloth’s golden thread,
A travesty of demons waxing wild,
Loosing scorn and magic on that place,
Reserved for one; the steadfast holy child,

And is there aught of doubt or flinching there,
Upon that clear visage of Christ on high?
Nay, not one iota, mark ye well,
No soul shall His pre-eminence decry,

And pray, what do I see writ large anon,
While sifting through the codex of the skies?
A signature, made by the Prince of Air,
Set down by the deceitful Prince of Lies,

And where is this consent laid down you ask?
What pledge has Satan made before us all?
Confession, on the body of Our Lord,
Aye, even he, to Christ must duly crawl.

Renfield H. Bizarre, 08.08.16

Abide With Us


Abide with Us

Abide with us, oh precious child of God,
Within our vast, triumphant hall of glass,
Hung from heaven, draped, like blackest night,
The sacred veil that nothing can surpass,

Tarry not within the devil’s view,
But turn to us and know the touch of peace,
The melting of the struggle to prevail,
The succour that ensures all sorrows cease,

Find the shining spark that calls so clear,
The pulchritude that lights the astral plane,
The Holy Ghost, untrammeled and untouched,
The sacred sword that rings as sin is slain,

With this weapon livening your hand,
Hack away perdition’s foul embrace,
The sick, ignoble galleries of hell,
The vilely forming vistas of disgrace,

Aye, reach up and up and don’t look back,
Spy aloft the cherubim on high,
Heralding your place within their fold,
“Abide with us”, they whisper, as we die.

Renfield H. Bizarre, 05.06.16

Four Quarters


four quarters

Four quarters join as one,
Four faces in the dark,
The pieces gripped in unison,
The flint struck firm to light the holy spark,

Regret departs within a jot,
The faces shining true,
The mixture made, the game well played,
Ecstatic beams from heaven bolting through,

Exhaltant souls, but strangers fused,
See clearly cross the void,
The black deceiver in their midst,
His unbecoming rivalry destroyed,

Implications, implications racing through the air,
The talent overwhelming strong, the songsheet hid from view,
But what is this? Pray listen close,
The voices, plain as day, produce one song!

Michael, in a woman’s guise?
The ray of light soon carving out the tears,
The unimagined summoning,
Rising up, to mark the coming years,

The karma pulled on subtle threads,
Reeled in to make a picture of perfection,
Every detail ushered up,
And met anon with heaven’s benediction.

Renfield H. Bizarre, 10.03.16

The Holy Temple



My temple is the light of all creation,
The brilliance of a thousand summer days,
The emanation from the holy city,
The miracles of earth within the blaze,

The tumbling tides of winter beaches churning,
The sun-embossed horizon glowing clear,
The midnight heavens spread with stars undying,
The gentle flowers growing without fear,

The orange kiss of dusk upon the mountain,
The perfect play of sunlight in the gloam,
The loveliness of God’s eternal fountain,
This I call my dwelling place, my home,

The hopeful glint of dawn light seeking sunrise,
The evanescent colours through the sky,
The dalliance of birdsong through the silence,
The innocence of life my lullaby,

The hushing breath of wind atop the forest,
The glitter of the rain upon the trees,
The harmony of heaven’s tender chorus,
This becomes my work, my expertise,

My temple is the light that knows no boundaries,
The love that conquers every tract and time,
I am the silent face of the Creator,
The splendour of a thousand suns sublime.

Dedicated to Rae, Phil, Mel, Louis, Lucia and Sophia Dunstan, in memory of Peter Francis Dunstan.

Photograph and words by Renfield H. Bizarre, 02.03.16

The Josephite Heart


Bronx Op Monastery

Turned to the immaculate within,
Refusing to admit the shadow soul,
Sisters banded strong in holy thought,
Relinquishing to Christ supreme control,

Days of pure devotion offered up,
Within the silence of the stony walls,
A gift of pooling stillness on the earth,
Emanating through the convent halls,

Prayers and soft devotions spoken low,
Rising to St. Joseph overhead,
Rosaries that trace the beaded string,
Worship blossoming along the thread,

Hanging there, like sunshine lost in time,
The beatitude of Mary set aglow,
Epitome of service and of grace,
Humility that only angels know,

Let your labours sing across the land,
And call us to the sacred heart of Christ,
Flood us with the love that knows no bounds,
The legacy of what He sacrificed,

Elevate us in your holy song,
Your attitude of praise a perfect art,
Build in us a heaven standing true,
Bless us with the strong Josephite Heart.

Renfield H. Bizarre, 28.02.16