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"the meek, the meek" and other poems
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Four works of poetry that touch on and explore the themes of
religion and politics.
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By Barton D Smock / Columbus, Ohio
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Tuesday, April 8, 2008 |
the meek, the meek
i.
in him like the sewing needle of god’s mother; is lightning.
in you a koan.
ii.
now that she wants the surgery removed
they tell her
the womb
is a hook
that looks like a womb.
iii.
everywhere work.
stalks
pitch
the golden blood
of brooms.
iv.
mother in her rocker
her eyes
tire swings
her tongue
a cat’s tail.
v.
fourteen
my sister
martyrs herself
under the monkey
mad
in the stoplight.
vi.
in a church
hangs a coat
with a man
in it.
vii.
does not break loose
like they say
all hell.
visitation
the children
in a dry tub
their shed clothes
tight
at the necks
of dolls.
crash
of mother
in the kitchen
fathers
in different cars
aiming
for bottles.
god inhabits
a plaything
separates
each finger.
the oldest
puts one hand
on his head
and forces it down.
the youngest
comes up for water.
the middle
child
on his way home
from school
yesterday
saw the devil
prying horns
from a tree
and felt very much alone.
mother, rewrites
she will claim
channel 7 1973
had
both
god
& static.
that from a hole
in the ceiling
a man’s mouth
whispered
then
spit
at her
on the couch.
she will
put you
on the prayer chain. you will be watching tv
the phone will ring
it’s William
but you can call me Bill.
mother this is just.
mother this is just. a way
of
keeping.
you know
she stood there
with her military
man
and could feel
the baby
so okay
with dying.
a precise kingdom
the thing inside
a bullet my brother
made up. I shot you while you
slept. then clicked his thumb
down.
**
if you run away I will break
favorite
lines
you speak of war.
**
alone, loaded up with light. in that room
the bus drove by.
the baby’s head is orange the plastic
broken
arm of the most coveted
toy
also orange.
**
brother I understand
this city named
you. I ask the locals
a better word they hand me
license plates.
**
the bone car dead behind you.
the small
unique
body of your daughter
back in the states.
you crush it, into your side, it stays
with you, it’s a fragile
spear. badly made.
**
it stays with you, a child’s tooth in the pillow.
bite mark on a cloud. dream of exit
before entering the bar where the local argument
is more about
how far you ran
with a headless
doll.
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Last Updated ( Tuesday, April 8, 2008 )
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