Chant Royale

You claim we must to ‘purer ways’ return
Or some infinitude of loss incur
Of ‘how to swerve abominations’ learn
To spill no seed and heed no serpent’s purr
Treat ‘those who would abominate’ with scorn
And troop upright, the lust within unborn
You’ve told me, many thanks, and told me straight
Of God’s sky-filling love, pit-filling hate
How we must heed this good and great design
Or show ourselves of life’s stern gift ingrate
You’ll prove it, sweetheart, sure, but first some wine?

Just one thing more, my judge, one small concern
A detail, maybe two, then I’ll concur
I full-endorse that we must pleasure spurn
We shed our license when we shed our fur
And troop upright, of luxury full-shorn
Face night with prayer, with ‘leuia greet the morn
But can you, please, the founding dogma state
Why our own bodies serve our souls as bait?
And why each instinct wiles to undermine
That perfect law that thrust us from the gate?
I’m keen to learn, sweetheart, but first some wine?

In Eden’s belly, fig-tree, frond and fern
First waved to gentle drum, then shook ablur
A cockatoo flapped closer to discern
A bald backside, sweat stuck with leaf and burr
That rose and fell ‘midst moans that caused a fawn
To dash the garden through, all beasts to warn
‘The woman bears a strange and laughing weight
Yet cries to spur him on, not to placate
They heave and succour, curse and intertwine.’
The soil was tilled, made fertile by its freight
One glass more, sweetheart, then we’ll say Compline.