Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
After I had cut off my hands
and grown new ones
something my former hands had longed for
came and asked to be rocked.
After my plucked out eyes
had withered, and new ones grown
something my former eyes had wept for
came asking to be pitied.
This one really struck me because of some things happening in my life. I won't go into detail now, but I've realized how I've started closing myself off from things and people since the tornado. It changed the way I deal with stress, and not entirely in a good way. And this poem just struck me by reminding me, I don't want to lose my compassion and ability to love because I'm unwilling to deal with my own grief and struggles.
This one provoked a literally physical reaction . . .
thigh and tongue, beloved,
are heavy with it,
it throbs in the teeth
We look for communion
and are turned away, beloved,
each and each
It is leviathan and we
in its belly
looking for joy, some joy
not to be known outside it
two by two in the ark of
the ache of it.
The thing I love most about this poem is the fact that it's harshly raw in its honesty about the bitter painfulness of marriage. The fact that sometimes, you're not satisfied. And yet, it has hope, because it claims that they are "looking for joy . . . not to be known outside of it." And it makes me want to experience marriage and experience that joy and the ache and the awesome relationship that can exist despite the ups and downs of both.
Okay. Gonna go try to sleep now. Happy National Poetry Month :-)
Monday, April 11, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
It is hard sometimes to drag ourselves
back to the love of morning
after we've lain in the dark crying out
O God, save us from the horror . . . .
God has saved the world one more day
even with its leaden burden of human evil;
we wake to birdsong.
And if sunlight's gossamer lifts in its net
the weight of all that is solid,
our hearts, too, are lifted,
swung like laughing infants;
all incident - our own hunger,
the dear tasks of continuance,
the footsteps before us in the earth's
beloved dust, leading the way - all,
is hard to love again
for we resent a summons
that disregards our sloth, and this
calls us, calls us.