there are hints–
things to watch for
listed in scripture
war
& whispers of it,
temples to build
you can read them
in old & new testaments
but I say
decipher the earth
& cast sticks like runes
listen to the eyes
of soldiers
& read what is written
in stone
what you want to know
is told there loudly
the when does not matter
as much
because
we are always moving
closer to it
& we have less time
than we knew
sure, stone breaks
into smaller stones
but it doesn’t change
really–
unless you count
no longer holding together
as a kind of growing
it takes patience
to wait for the right
soft
to weather edges
that never will
fuse to wholeness
this city
what’s left after war
that does not follow us
a trail of broken rooftops
& empty helmets
rattling like cranial beads
around Kali’s neck
only flesh comes together again
the scars we call healing
stitched closed
not seamless, but
joining the pieces
we save for
breathing monuments.
for http://franzad.wordpress.com/2012/12/10/a-storm-is-comming/
Here you go guys–the first “inspiration” poem by Franziska. I’ll be joining in later–this looks like a dark and delicious start!
stones beside my window sill
i feel the winters chill – crawling
out of lumpy shadows
– vikings i have found on doorsteps
howling to their swords desire
bloody creatures dripping on screaming ground
a flock of crows
– voyages to the northern land
above my head i feel the pressured air dry
as the silent upraising of a magnetic storm
– beware forth evermore
voiceless figures around my house
helmets clinging to clotheslines
shacks and rooftops are following me
copyright (c) 2012 by franziska dirnberger
now, for those of you who like a prompt,
be inspired to write an poem and if you like
link it to the comment section. i am looking
forward to your musings
when I was in fifth grade
at the Baptist school
our teacher passed out
what looked like newspapers
describing people
simply
vanishing
in the middle of work
cooking dinner
shoe shopping
& for a moment
I felt certainly damned
having skipped past rapture
but the classroom was full
& the teacher still there
so I knew
it was a lure for sinners
that I bit
but for that minute
barely past 10
my throat would not
release breath, or open
& for that second
I felt forgotten,
abandoned
or rejected
by God
missed
by that cosmic net
I turned my hand over
to look at my palm
still unmarked
& wondering
what that mark
would look like
*** I say this as a person of faith, but this really happened to me in fifth grade, and I wonder how the adults justified passing out the fake newspapers to us. Now I wonder how people cuddled in a smugness they call faith can justify frightening children into stumbling up the aisle and kneeling there. To me, that is less an act of faith and more a desperate lunge toward a life preserver tossed out over that threatened lake of fire, or a get out of hell free card. Makes me unpopular with a lot of evangelicals, but I cannot embrace a doctrine cooked up in the last 200 years or so. Amillenialists, premillenialists, postmillenialists–makes my head ache to think about. Guess we can just argue about it in eternity when we get there.
I dreamed your voice,
waking with
always that leap forward
this heart takes
when it hears you
if want
can span this stretch,
lift spirit free from strings
& fly
I know, precisely
where mine would go
unheeding & careless
of what it leaves here
still bound
I am the voice of rain
on a tin roof
bringing dreams
I am both
flight & chase–
the running doe
& the arrow
shot & singing
through morning
the missed chance.
the flash in the stream.
catch me
if your hands can hold
light & water
Noel, marvelous poem, as always!
nothing can
ever hush a voice,
not force
nor noise
nothing can
neither philistine jaws
nor grubby grouchy claws
not even green clammy creepy envy
nor raucous hollering of the loud mouthed
can choke
the delicate dimpled
dance steps of a voice
strumming, sometimes
fluttering, then prancing, now leaping
soft, delicate, yet piercing
rich in energy
strolling with poise
overflowing with force
brimming with sense
like joyful water jets
from a dam
fresh, full, gushing,
flowing, freeing and renewing,
inventing and reinventing
For Obinna and Susan, two talented voices!
Susan Daniels Poetry 