Hills, ridges reddish tomorrow
all creation, – pollen of the flowering godhead,
Joints of the light, corridors, stairways, thrones,
Rooms from essence, shields made of ecstasy, riots
stormy ecstatic feeling and suddenly, single,
Mirrors which emanated from its own beauty
draw back in their own faces.
The folks who run Haus Ritzinger, the village church community centre, sent out calls for angels to populate their Christmas exhibition.
Hundreds of the darn things, the majority being angelic candlesticks et al.
The poem actually kicks off with
I have NO idea why they left that line out…
Not terrible were one from 1620 (learned later, sadly anonymous due to appalling (i.e. total lack of) signage, Famous Journalist B. Schenk‘s and Mrs jb’s contributions:
Alena Lorencova’s angel. Probably on weed or speed – just look at the dilated pupils….
A tiny church weathervane from New England
Didn’t trust them with Steve Fullmer’s “Angel”.
It’s featured in Naomi O’Connor’s ” New Zealand art and culture” as “an example of the more innovative, purely decorative ‘pots’ made in recent years.“
Can’t imagine that it would have been a snug fit….