I was raised in stone built churches on country lanes. Visited four or five times a year, more often late than on time, flanked by my parents and sister. I prefer the old hymns to the new, the silence of reverence to the cries of praise from a congregation, and the arch of oak beams far above me, over the neat square faces of twentieth century municipal buildings thrown up in towns. My Grandmother would say that God is always with her, no matter the place. When I told her I wasn’t sure I believed in him, she explained how he came to her whenever she was in need. How each time she opened herself to him, he was there. Even though she failed to seek him out when the storm clouds passed. I envied that faith when my own was a rickety boat threatening to drown me at sea. Elizabeth The First is quoted as saying she did not want to make windows into men’s souls. I have to take sides with her about …
Fire Worshipper “Fire worshipper,” they breath, seeing only burn and crackle nothing more than flames. “Fire worshipper,” they breath, no time to dig deeper, ask more of things unknown. “Fire worshipper,” they breath, so secure in just one faith, no time for the others. “Fire worshipper,” they breath, forgetting that those fires casts a longer shadow.
“This is wrong.” Hannah said, aiming a kick at an especially infuriated column of white cloud. “I know this is all a shock,” said her Grandmother, “but you will get used to it. We were all surprised by the aneurism, none of your lot saw it coming and even I thought you’d have a month or two more.” “But this cannot be it!” shrieked Hannah, her voice coming out as a whisper despite her vocal chords straining; why would anyone need the ability to scream where she was? “An eternity of bliss will send me mad; its just too peaceful!”
I am trying to write a Haiku for every day of this month. I wrote Summer Birds on the first day, yesterday I wrote: Leaf mulch and bare bark. Faith went the way of Winter without Spring for hope. and today I have: You’re my thunder dusk following heat clogged daylight. I listen for you. I find writing haikus a little bizarre. Why? I don’t actually know if I like them… Haikus never feel as if they hold enough when I read them of write them. I can find some crackers and think “wow! I really like that!” But it remains the same for the vast majority of haikus, I simply feel that they don’t suit me. So I’m trying to write one every day for a month to see if my opinion changes. How about yourselves? Are there any poetic or prosaic forms that simply stick in your pen? I would be interested to hear if anyone else finds themselves in a similar situation.
Will there be a day, when legend and mythology become the final refuge of Christianity?
We cluttered stone angels around your headstone, in the hope, that even if our faith had been misplaced, they would be real enough to keep you company, and displace the bitterness we soaked into your final peace, when we gave our last goodbyes and prayed to one we thought selfish.
Well that isn’t worrying at all. And there is no conceivable way, in your mind or mine, that this could go wrong. I am utterly fine, with you scaling that wall, I mean really! There are clear handholds, that gutter seems securely attached, and your mother always said: ‘That son’ of mine, part boy, mostly monkey.’ It has by no means reached the point, where nine, nine, nine is firmly punched into my phone and my thumb is simply hovering over call. I have complete faith in you. Just remind me again. How much is too much when sarcasm is used? As I have shown in my previous poems, I have not really been paying too much attention to the NaPoWriMo prompts. Mainly because I really didn’t like the one for the day, or because I have already a poem that echoes the prompt and I do not wish to repeat myself. A valediction – ‘Incomplete’ So instead I used a prompt that I found on Poets’ …
What do you see that I cannot? Some purity within this old rot? But why should it encompass me – When it is not what I can see? And what deserves attention so – When it drags far from life’s full flow? Should I be here both blind and mute? Would a parchment skin better suit? For I see darkness in your light, Have no true faith in greater might, And where once I could find your eyes… I see that now but glass resides.