Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Found some old poems I wrote during an art and writing class. Love these discoveries!


The Lady on the Wall

 

What is the purpose of one single cloud?

Not ashes.

Not stone.

Not mostly white.

One cloud—angry or quiet

can not contain

this red woman dancing.

My arms are thrown

exploding in the sky

underfoot and dancing

red deeper in my breast,

my hair,

the curves of my legs.

 

Eyes can not see

          one cloud

when my head swings

          rhythm moving forward

a single wave does not know

whether to come or go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Reflecting on the Bodhisattva

          Tracy Bednarick

 

My knees and calves know the aged worry

of thousands.

Where windows should be tilted down

I offer no repose, no harbor.

 

Jesus looked down from the cross forgiving even those

who betrayed and tortured

 

Yet I must stare—stone spheres in locked orbs

off in the distance

a weathering Himalayan mountain,

a garden,

the bedroom of a Geisha.

 

When praying hands rubbed my stone smooth

ropes draped over my arms—a weight I must hold

but if I could drop these ropes where would my hands go?

 

Would they hold a head?

Surround the tears of a parent who has lost a child?

Sneak coins into the pocket of a beggar?

What wishes would I fill?

Could I see the worries of all these hands?

 

But hands do not make miracles,

eyes dwell only in light.

Ripples of heart move through me with every fingertip’s caress

My heart is not stone.

Break this statue-

crack my insides.

Every touch has softened.

My essence has held the head,

soothed the sting of tears

brought fortune for work.

 

Eyes do not need to see when the body knows. 

I offer particles like slivers of mica.

Capture these pieces.  They are your wine, my blood, my body.

God did not craft me,

you did

and my eyes will be your heart.

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