The reclining figure’s forehead
Was on fire
And
There was a patch
Of pure blue
Through a kaleidoscope
Of white cotton batting

But the story
Was to the south
Of the valley
Where blueprint blue clouds
Were suspended
In a hologram
Under the deep blue sea
That this once was

From nine o’clock until the stroke of 10 o’clock the three huge bells at the top of the Duomo tower were kept in motion by a team of bell ringers – the Campanari of Barga.

A feast called the Conception of Mary arose in the Eastern Church in the seventh century (prior to the Great Schism of 1054). It looked to the West in the eighth century. In the eighth century it became a feast of the Roman Catholic Church. It is the only one of Mary’s feasts that came to the Western Church not by way of Rome, but instead spread from the Byzantine area to Naples, and then to Normandy during their period of dominance over southern Italy. From there it spread into England, France, Germany, and eventually Rome.

Prior to Pope Pius IX’s definition of the Immaculate Conception as Church dogma in 1854, most missals referred to it as the Feast of the Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The festal texts of this period focused more on the action of her conception than on the theological question of her preservation from original sin. A missal published in England in 1806 indicates the same collect for the feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary was used for this feast as well.

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The first move towards describing Mary’s conception as “immaculate” came in the eleventh century. In the fifteenth century Pope Sixtus IV, while promoting the festival, explicitly tolerated those who promoted it as the Immaculate Conception and those who challenged such a description, a position later endorsed by the Council of Trent.

The proper for the feast of the Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the Medieval Sarum Missal, merely addresses the action of her conception.

The collect for the feast reads:

O God, mercifully hear the supplication of thy servants who are assembled together on the Conception of the Virgin Mother of God, may at her intercession be delivered by Thee from dangers which beset us.

In 1854, Pius IX made the infallible statement Ineffabilis Deus: “The most Blessed Virgin Mary, in the first instant of her conception, by a singular grace and privilege granted by almighty God, in view of the merits of Jesus Christ, the saviour of the human race, was preserved free from all stain of original sin.” – source

GuPnXLvoYyA
WARNING …. turn your sound down

Joyful Noise

I’m hearing voices

There’s a ringing in my ears

An echo and clatter

And ambient music

And I know I’m not going crazy

I’m hearing voices
And not just in my head

There’s a ringing in my ears
It’s the Cathedral bells

The echo and clatter
Of people in the street
The joyful noise
Of babies crying
The ambient music
Of people talking
Dogs barking
And not
Just the sound
Of my own voice

More words from Kerry can be found on her Poetry section of barganews.

Discouragement
And disillusion try
To maintain a foothold

A bird chirps
A cat pules
A bud emerges

Cold
leaves me ravenous
rootless
I bristle
and look for sustenance
and find it
in the mountain sides

Stunned still
Its glare floods
The furrows
Of the pillow

Turn
There are dreams to reap
For the long winter ahead

Hoarding the treasure like a thief
Figs bursting like a jewel box
Amethyst plums in my pockets

Like a party crasher
I devour everything at the banquet
Warm ruby ripe tomatoes basil and balsamic
Salty emerald pesto strands slipping through my lips

I smile at the invited guests
A sweet topaz corn kernel dangling from my chin
The juice of jade tarragon chicken drips through my fingers
Ignoring the signs of fall and failing
I look over my shoulder for the reckoning
And feel the chill from an open door

They stand on the street
Tall, lean, beckoning
With long limbs
There’s a definite
Buzz about them

You’re captivated
By their intoxicating fragrance
Fascinated with
Dripping yellow diamond
Chandelier earrings
And conquered
By their ruffled hearts

Summer-like day

I walk the Tiglio Road

Through dense humid acacia

Clover and elderflower air

Like stepping into a shower

In any one of the many houses

In which I have lived

Or stayed

Full with sense and sensitivity

To smell the soapy steam

Someone has just left

A boat races through cold air
Away from the ancient city
Past tall villas

Flames engulf interiors
Raging window to window
A heart races

Thumbs part
Nostrils flare
Soft liquid flesh yields
A spritz of bittersweet
Blood orange

Piangi

Piange

Piangiamo

Piangete

Piangono

………..
Vergemoli
08 March 08

Beat

Of the strobe

Of the light

Through the trunks

Of the trees

On the slope

As I drive

The winding road

The blinding flash

Of white

When I come

To a stop

Hillsides
From ancient kitchens

Hot
Spots
Of savoury light
As the glow fades
For the winter

We file with buckets
Into the rows
One by one

Bent over
Or on knees
We gently cup the dark
Heavy clusters
In warm palms
Crush mint underfoot

Buckets fill
Men in tractors reach
More
Sumptuous food
Spread
La Vendemmia is done

To be drunk
In time and quantities
That are
Sobering