Winifred Wahlberg

Sydney, NSW, Australia

Winifred comes from New Zealand where she developed an interest in painting portraits and began collecting old books on Christology whilst working at D.S.I.R. and raising a family. Now in Australia, she has become absorbed in Egyptology and sacred geometry of the Old Kingdom Period. Winifred likes to evoke metaphysical imagery in her poems and The National Library of Poetry has published some of her work. After travelling around the world visiting various historical sites, particularly ancient Egyptian ones, and sojourning in Jerusalem and the Holy Land, Winifred is catching up on a backlog of reading and doing some writing.

Not So Ancient Art

Driftwood on the beach
Stripped stark and bleached
Blonde abstracts silhouette
Tawny seaweed's confusing
Wind-borne message in a net
Symbol of the deep unknowing
Tossed up by green pellucid waves
Foaming on shore's sandy rampart
Fossil haven for Morpheus creatures
Stage of Nature's unique features
Performing cyclic computations
Each and everyone a part
In Eternal's classical art
Recording light impressions

Holy Grail

The fruit of the Vine is poured
In the vale of mortal chalice
To betroth thy valiant heart
Whose amor is thus armoured
For Love's sweet haven in the palace
Where thoughtful meditations see in part
Now filled and brimming with pure gold
Sparkling like warm dew in the mist
Thus earthly vessel sighs to behold
Inspiration of Life eternal - wist
Radiant Spirit so softly calls
As quivering lips kiss Stone of Rubicon
Raised at the Gate - on the Threshold
While Angels' tender Rose enthralls
A gift to all souls faithful to the Lore
On ancient quest of Holy Grail's
Blood of Yahwey's Treasure in a Cradle
Carries the Light of Life through the Door
As all worldly woes disperse and pales
At feast of Saviour's Saints Round Table
Knights drunk on Holiness in His Cup
When the Comforter comes to supp
And quaffs the sanctioned liquid's dregs
'Tis verily shown the Sacrifice is blessed
Life of Priest - King in the Shrine
Whose ruby Elixir on the Mantle
Did moisten Broken Holy Bread
Descending from the Golden Divine
As heaven's trumpets sound above
To herald The King Who ever cares
For on The Way He doth prepares
Thine self cleansed in Just, True Love
Falling into His arms sublime