Sister Poetry

Sudden word-pangs

And images, long curled in fetal stillness

Stirred, and stetched,

And nudged against the womb-walls of my mind.

It seemed the ripe-time,

Very edge of birthing!

But mid-wife, Beauty,

Somehow lacked the gentler touch.

She was TOO swift,

Too savage.

And that first ecstatic cry came forth

A mute—

To be forever swaddled in a

wonder-silence!

Winter- - -

In your bitter ragings

And your whitened shrouds

Endless seeming - - -

You are yet less powerful

Than

A one-day’s

Blooming rose!

Cold and rigid, now,

you neither run,

nor rest

nor fall.

It seems that

all your need

is just to cling

to some sure thing

and yet ambivalent,

your thrust is downward!

Brittle beauty,

treacherous, too, as you hang—

a suspended, frozen longing!

Perhaps you air to bridge the gap?

But please,

not freeze on freeze!

Could you not chose

drop

by icy drop

To lose that glacial form into warmth

Under the snow? 

GOD

 slipped into the coffin with me.

He didn’t move---didn’t even say a word---

Didn’t even rustle the shirred taffeta

Surrounding me.

TOGETHER

We listened to my accolades—my grand

Accomplishments known far and wide!

(Once when it got too preposterous,

He poked me in the side.)

A FEW

Really honest friends recalled

(of course in “sotto voce”) some

details that were far from grand.

(Made me damn nervous—till He reached over

And squeezed my hand

Reassuringly!)

IT’S GOOD

These things don’t last too long.

We were both impatient for the final prayer

And song

To end the whole charade.

So, a final sprinkling and a

Fastened lid set off the slow parade

WE LISTENED

To some blowing noses.

Listened till the last grin, and we

Laughed

And laughed

Right on into the DAY!

Observe the Life Lover!

He tends to travel barefoot,

On the sands

And if he stoops and lifts with gentle hands

Some cast-off from the shore’s debris

Watch him carefully.

He’ll seldom focus on the texture

Or the hue

But tip and turn the “treasure”

To assure himself

A better view

Of what’s inside.

With strange intensity he’ll peer

 into the pink and hidden folds

Or—better still—

He holds it to his ear…

Strange

How life-lovers tell of catching

rhythmic lappings

or a tempest swell

while others laugh at one

who’d listen to an empty shell!

You bend and bow

Curtsy and lift

Laugh and Shudder

And lift again.

Wind

sets your rhythm

I

brace and stiffen

stand firm

resist

and break!

“I AM THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA.”

That’s helpful.

We like precise parameters

and clean, clear closure!

But it’s in among those OTHER letters—

All twenty-two of them---that we

live our “lives of quiet Desperation”!

If only once those inconclusive jottings

would arrange themselves into a word,

a phrase, a sentence that would MEAN!

Merely a suggestion, God, but have You ever

thought of shortening your alphabet?

And---pardon me---but

MUST IT BE IN GREEK?

(Luke 17:18-30 or John 5:33-36)

I don’t usually

 run to crazed men

ranting about repentance,

sandal straps and

succession planning.

But he seeded in me

a desire for someone

to assuage my hunger

and to slake my thirst.