The Burning Bush

Herbert Gorman

Herbert Gorman portrait

January 1893 to 28 October 1954 (~61)

No Audio Available
This poem hasn't been set to music yet, but you can still practice with the cloze game!

No more poems will be set to music

From 4 November 2026 I am not setting any more poems to music. Voting is closed. This poem will stay as text until the garden closes at midnight on 20 January 2028.

How to Play Cloze Games

A cloze game is a reading comprehension activity where certain words are removed from a text and you need to fill in the blanks with the correct words. This helps improve vocabulary, reading comprehension, and understanding of context.

Type In Mode

In this mode, you can:

  • Type your answers directly into the blank spaces
  • Get instant feedback as you type - correct answers show green, incorrect show red
  • Use the keyboard for faster input and navigation
  • Submit answers to check your overall progress

Drag & Drop Mode

Switch to Drag & Drop mode to:

  • Drag words from the word bank and drop them into blank spaces
  • Click on words in the bank to automatically fill blanks
  • Click on blanks to select or clear them

Game Features

  • Word Skip Selector: Choose how frequently words are removed (every 4th, 5th, 6th word, etc.)
  • Progress Bar: Shows your completion percentage
  • Color Feedback: Green for correct answers, red for incorrect ones
  • Audio Player: Listen to the musical arrangement while you play (when available)
  • Show Missing Words: View all the correct answers if you need help
  • Reset Game: Start over with the same poem
  • New Game: Get a different random poem

Winning

When you fill all the blanks correctly and submit your answers, you'll see a congratulations message! The progress bar will show 100% completion.

Tips

  • Read the entire poem first to understand the context
  • Look for grammatical clues (verb tense, articles, etc.)
  • Use the audio player to hear the rhythm and flow (when available)
  • Start with easier word skip settings (like every 8th word) and work your way up
  • Don't be afraid to use "Show Missing Words" if you get stuck!
  • Try both Type In and Drag & Drop modes to see which you prefer

Missing Words

He talks of kings and in his eyes at
I catch parading banners tossing by
He puts to my gathering cloud of rhymes
By smiling suddenly and high
His weather-beaten forehead to the sky.
With speculative he throws the ball
Of chatter with agility most
And keeps the thread, nor loses it at all.

face is like old oak the sun has burned
mellow beauty, and his eye is such
That if suddenly on me is turned
I am aware of that matter much
In analysing why the common touch
sight to sight means more than words may say,
why the earth may sometimes seem a smutch
Of upon the lintel of the day.

He grows in to his words and I
Diminish in their magic an ear
Existing solely for the thoughts that fly
colored ardency from him so near
And I so far, thoughts longer than a year
With wisdom heaped on wisdom, yet they pass
As swiftly as a half-unconscious tear
suddenly upon a heated glass.

He hitches up his suspender, chews
Tobacco with a ruminating air,
Dissects with the news
Of warring nations, with a word lays
The white nerve-centers of some great affair
And solves riddle that a statesman died
To find the key to, turns a knowing stare
Upon humanity—and once he sighed.

sits upon this battered hulk, the earth,
And plays theory as men with dice.
He knows the nations their feeble birth
In prehistoric fields of sliding ice.
age and age he traces each device
That man for the sake of Man,
And has no need brood upon them twice,
But places each within its plan.

Incompetent he may be for a world
Too of delight to know a seer
Who reads the as a sign unfurled
And finds philosophy a spinning drear.
But there are times I feel that gods are
And through the windows of his eyes a light,
Auspicious, awful and divinely clear,
Glows like the burning bush the night.

00:00

The Burning Bush

Herbert Gorman (January 1893 - 28 October 1954 ~61)

He talks of kings and in his eyes at times
I catch parading banners tossing by
He puts to rout my gathering cloud of rhymes
By smiling suddenly and lifting high
His weather-beaten forehead to the sky.
With speculative twists he throws the ball
Of chatter with agility most spry
And keeps the thread, nor loses it at all.

His face is like old oak the sun has burned
To mellow beauty, and his eye is such
That if it suddenly on me is turned
I am aware of things that matter much
In analysing why the common touch
Of sight to sight means more than words may say,
And why the earth may sometimes seem a smutch
Of soot upon the lintel of the day.

He grows in greatness to his words and I
Diminish in their magic to an ear
Existing solely for the thoughts that fly
In colored ardency from him so near
And I so far, thoughts longer than a year
With wisdom heaped on wisdom, yet they pass
As swiftly as a half-unconscious tear
Dropped suddenly upon a heated glass.

He hitches up his one suspender, chews
Tobacco with a ruminating air,
Dissects with equanimity the news
Of warring nations, with a word lays bare
The white nerve-centers of some great affair
And solves the riddle that a statesman died
To find the key to, turns a knowing stare
Upon humanity—and once he sighed.

He sits upon this battered hulk, the earth,
And plays with theory as men with dice.
He knows the nations from their feeble birth
In prehistoric fields of sliding ice.
Through age and age he traces each device
That man perfected for the sake of Man,
And has no need to brood upon them twice,
But places each within its proper plan.

Incompetent he may be for a world
Too eager of delight to know a seer
Who reads the heavens as a sign unfurled
And finds philosophy a spinning drear.
But there are times I feel that gods are near
And through the windows of his eyes a light,
Auspicious, awful and divinely clear,
Glows like the burning bush across the night.

Poet portrait
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A quiet notice V2Melody closes at midnight on , Spanish time.

Closes

A note from Richard

V2Melody will close at midnight on 20 January 2028

This site has been a retirement project in musical poetry: poems chosen with care and set to music, offered freely for as long as it felt right to keep the garden open.

The work no longer holds the place it once did in my life. I have gone as far with it as I wish to go. Like a sand mandala, it was made to be completed and then released. I am not attached to its permanence, and I do not believe any of it needs to last beyond the time it was given. The poems were already here before I arrived and began to experiment with them. They will still be here when these musical experiments, and indeed myself, have been swept away, like the sand of a mandala. Nothing has been lost.

I want a simpler end to my life, days of simple love and enjoyment with my wonderful wife of 20 years. The work of maintaining a server, the monitoring, and the residual obligations that come with keeping a site alive no longer fit that life.

From 4 November 2026 I will not be adding new poems or musical poems to the site.

Until midnight on 20 January 2028, Spanish time, everything remains available exactly as it is. That is when my VPS server contract comes to an end, and it will not be renewed. After that, the server will be switched off and the site will disappear.

The Mandala Is Finished explains this more fully.

Thank you to anyone who found a poem, a track, or a quiet moment here.

The pleasure was in the making.

Richard