The Thinking Poet


Perched On Ararat

Dedicated to David Verdegaal who had a "near-death" experience on 11 April 1986

When his heart stopped
his brain was killed.
Thirsty for blood is the cortex.
Drained, we are swept to the vortex.

Knowing he was dead,
from above he cast indifferent eyes
on a body happily sloughed,
and at those that were left.

For who in wraps of love
could crave return?
Would any snake, skin shed,
be so misled?

He was in a garden,
silent, petal proud,
where colours scintillate;
and there beyond, inviting, stood a gate.

He knew the ecstasy of entering;
the agony of leaving;
a drawing back to hell
at the filling of that shell.

Snatched from consummatum est
comes slow return to flesh;
a back-to-earth again
in stunned and silent brain.

Just as Noah perched on Ararat
was snatched from watery death,
so as death's tide recedes,
reluctant strands of thought begin to breed.

Ark-homing dove
bearing a single leaf,
silent volumes speaks
from its beak.

Promise and rainbow are one.
Symbol clothed meaning when time was begun.
But when rainbow fades, and symbol is gone,
the promise lingers, and love lives on.

Brain is cup of consciousness.
Our essence, what we imbibe.
And when draught is all drunk up
we can throw away the cup.



Ron Cretchley