Skip to main content

Poem 11

Lord when i ask, i know
no one can tell.
your aspect is close
but undefined. a reflection in
a puddle of mud. how much?
how much?

you said, when we return
we will not be given in marriage, so
you have come to train our hearts; to
be angels, you drop the bumpers
and lead us from the bowl-o-drome.

still i am a question.
how much? how much?
and when to listen?

pinning for an answer, we
are attachments to the pin,
not Lord of the dead, drop
the bowling ball and walk away.

pinning for an answer, we
are attachments to the pin,
Lord, like angels, help us drop
the ball and walk away.

still i am a question.
how much? how much?
and when to listen?

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poem 4

though i stand chapped by the hot air of my lungs; though my heart stinks with the festering of open wounds; though the fount is caked in claret crust, from the sting of weeping cuts and viscous blood your name is a healing balm, your spirit is vitality you still the boiling waters; subdue the unsettled shores. when the choice of rebellion chafes creaking anxieties cleave and splinters break, you dependably pluck them up, a little litter; and burden the bugs no more.
Post a Comment
Read more

Poem 9

washed up, my skin is the bristling foam and bright sand of the beach; a prolonged contact with the Holy lapping, lapping, lapping. washed up from tumult, the inner sea; the fight to keep it down, unsuccessful for too long i am ready to rise; to walk with my measly legs, i get up to turn around, and face the flooding surge of the storm with what balance and grace God gives. we will see what follows after, a baptism and a drowning.
Post a Comment
Read more