I am in Rome, Vatican bells tolling
a windowful of God and Bernini.
My neighbor, the Pope, has died
and God overnight, has wept
black mantles over the sainted
stone age whose skirted shadows
flit through to the main cave.
I nurse a cold. It must be error
to sniffle in sight of holiness.
“Liquids,” the doctor said. He has
no cure, but since I have my choice,
I sip champagne. If I must sit
dropsical to Heaven, let me at least
be ritual to a living water.
In the crypt under the cave
the stone box in its stone row
has been marked for months now.
My neighbor knew where he was going.
I half suspect I, too, know,
and that it is nothing to sneeze at,
but am left to sneeze.
I drink my ritual Mo
(John Anthony Ciardi)
More Poetry from John Anthony Ciardi:
John Anthony Ciardi Poems based on Topics: God, Sense & Perception, Heaven, Water- Abundance (John Anthony Ciardi Poems)
- On Looking East To The Sea With A Sunset Behind Me (John Anthony Ciardi Poems)
- The Pilot In The Jungle (John Anthony Ciardi Poems)
- A Magus (John Anthony Ciardi Poems)
- White Heron (John Anthony Ciardi Poems)
- An Emeritus Addresses The School (John Anthony Ciardi Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: God Poems, Heaven Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Water PoemsBased on Keywords: vatican, liquids, sniffle, bernini, dropsical, windowful
- Book III - Part 03 - The Soul is Mortal (Lucretius Poems)
- Out Of The East (John Freeman Poems)
- Alma; or, The Progress of the Mind. In Three Cantos. - Canto III. (Matthew Prior Poems)
- Of The Nature Of Things: Book II - Part 03 - Atomic Forms And Their Combinations (Lucretius Poems)
- Rhodon And Iris. Act III (Ralph Knevet Poems)