Poetry Gong - Poem 1

All Around Me, People Had Chills

i.

High above our heads, an incomplete angel.
A modern messiah in wide screen
offered for our edification.
Born without the usual wings
the legs and arms all parents expect,
this young man is spreading the love
of God without waving a single Bible.

It was not always so,
the preacher tells us.
Sorrow mocked him with her able grasp.
At the age of eight, the young man tried to commit suicide.

In the cavernous sanctuary,
a shift. Arms cross, feet shuffle,
the woman next to me rubs away chills.

Am I the only one wondering, how?


ii.

And, by the way, she stuck her head in an oven.
The muse and I are having a conversation.
We read that Sylvia Plath, brilliant poet,
tormented herself with self-doubt.
And, by the way, she stuck her head in an oven.

Am I the only one wondering, how?


iii.

When the oven fails to warm you
when hand-me-down genetics betray you,
how do you pick yourself up?
How do you get back on your horse
(provided you have a horse)?
What sky do you believe in
that might throw you a bone,
not hit you on the head?

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Carolee and I have had another brilliant idea in our quest for poetry nirvana. We are going to write a poem a day for 30 days. Make it a habit. Carolee, much more spiritual and in tune with such things than I, described a "gong" her yoga instructor created for her. A chart with 30 squares. Each day she did a certain yoga exercise, she got a smiley face. If she missed a day, she had to start ALL OVER AGAIN.

I like to consider myself an idea-maker. I come up with ideas. Naturally, this yoga gong gave me the idea for a poetry gong! The poem above is my first smiley face. Feel free to send me a beer a day, a poetry book a day, a cat a day, in lieu of a smiley face.