Thursday, January 29, 2009



Shards of life in enfolded hands
beside the shadow of the furnace.
Closed eyes, envisioned,
dropping the curtain of sight
to reveal possibilities.
Quiet moments in the argument of day.

The dead and damned scream
through the mouths of the bereaved.
Bellies forget their function
as flies investigate redundant mouths
Buildings fall
at the trumpet call
of missile and gun.
Ashes to ashes
dust to dust
Eden’s legacy.

The conversation is ill-reported.
One mans meat presents
its poison
and at the feet of God
the offering is blame.


Ofira Sephiroth said...

Wow, you've done an awesome job with this poem.

lissa said...

there's this subtle feeling of being in a box of sorrow, perhaps being reborn after death? not really sure why read into this but still it's quote a provoking poem you've written

fyi - found you through poets who blo

Dorla Moorehouse said...

What I like about this poem is that it upends a common image of prayer. I have traditionally viewed prayer as something peaceful, but in this poem, it's anything but.

janetleigh said...

The power of your words paints an unsettling image here, not what I'd expect for such a title. I like the tone and timbre I get from it. Very well done.

I've followed Poets Who Blog's link to get here.

Mairi said...

Hi Keith, I'm just catching up on the National Poetry month list and am imoressed with your offering. It reminds me of the end wall of the Sistine Chapel - the awful images of the last judgement. Your own image is also awful in its context, a slow dripping and wearing away, or a slow building up of possibilities, depending on whether you read it as ice melting or stalactities forming.
Glad to have found your site.

Sara said...

A lot of amazing images in this poem. Very intense. Its a poem a reader feels rattling their soul, rather than just appearing before their eyes.