Sniff..last PoeTry ThuRsdAy post...
It is with great trepidation that I post this last poem for PoeTry ThurSday. PT has gotten me up off my *&% so many times and moved me to write a poem when otherwise I would have probably wallowed in I-don't-have-time-town not writing(warning! poets, do not visit this unsavory tourist trap!). And what a great group of writers, even friends, I have encountered! Thanks PT! I am hoping to take some time to link to the poets who regularly read my irregular blog (as in no schedule, no potty reference intended! can you tell I spend my time with kids?).
On to the poem. I wrote this some months ago, just found it under a pile of papers and books. It is still relevant to me today, and, in fact, could link to the whiny lines of my last post. Here's me, still trying to get spiritual...
Reading a Few Thoughts on Faith, I Put Down the Book, Pick up the Pencil
"...But the essential thing is to put oneself in a frame of mind which is close to that of prayer." - Henri Matisse
Here is what I need
to get more spiritual.
I need to get right down
in my hat and pull out
a rabbit. Ignite a fire
somewhere in the nether regions.
Yoga, chakra, centering, God.
Yes. We all know it's in the details.
How many other names does God have?
My son, worshipper of dirt and speed,
poses the question as we bow our heads
in time to Bob Marley
on the way to the non-denominational
church we rarely nominate
in our nuclear democracy of a Sunday morning.
We wind up not in pews, not in organized
chairs, but at a trail head
open mouth of fur and pine
drawing the family in past needle
and cone teeth to its ferny belly.
We have entered the church of tree huggers.
I cross my fingers, bless the narrow log
we balance on to cross over into
the sunny side of the trail.
In heaven all rivers will run wide
but not deep.
Buddha will not be there,
belly bobbing above the current.
Allah will not arrive late
with seven virgins in tow.
Spirit is a boat you can not sail
without someone's wind bearing down on you.
Which weatherman shall we call for the forecast?
Labels: children, poetry thursday, religion
posted by jillypoet @ 1:44 PM
12 Comments:
What a great poem. There are some really wonderful moments here, like "My son, worshipper of dirt and speed," and "Which weatherman shall we call for the forecast?"
Very nice.
I agree with January- just so many great lines and the whole poem comes together wonderfully.
I want to join your church of the tree-huggers!
Some fine lines here and an overall sense of wonder and spirit!
it wanders back and forth between the physical and the spiritual like a trail and it crosses back on itself where the physical world IS spiritual. very cool!
I find connection with the spiritual in nature too.
I love buddah bobbing, and allah with his posse...
loved that.
I saw the trail head, at first, as the door of the church, literally. You out in the overflow latecomer crowd, observing the ritual from a safe distance.
But then you were in the forrest...and all you needed was the wind.
i really liked this.
"but at a trail head
open mouth of fur and pine
drawing the family in past needle
and cone teeth to its ferny belly"
That struck me. I feel near to nature and spirituality is what I find in nature.
Too many FANTASTIC lines to quote. This was a wonderful poetry on the questions of faith.
I go to this (your) church, too.
I loved this. Great lines to match the sentiment. Cool how the narrator's family is tied to the spiritual "journey"--that adds depth.
(Funny, odd funny, I wrote about a kind of churchiness for the last PT. Mine was an broad idea of escape--more atmospheric.)
I hate to see poetry thursday end too. It was very inspiring.
Loved your poem. It really got me thinking about my spirituality.
Hey, I'm glad you found *A Writing Year*!
I've been reading his blog since he first started out.
Je is absolutely fantastic. Especially those rate the rejection series.
Um...I meant he
He-he
Post a Comment
<< Home