|q: what's the difference between a face like that & a prayer,|
|a cupcake, an easter dress, & a prayer? a: no difference at all.|
it seems that no matter how mad i get at god
i keep supplicating to her
god is being
on a particularly tight day.
it seems that supplication is unavoidable
or maybe it's just me.
when i was birthing lula
the midwife said:
here comes the part
where every woman curses god
and calls for her mother.
what is the difference between
the two? the curse and the prayer?
god and a mother?
what is a prayer and
what is a poem?
we feel about who listens--
& what we do
& don't understand
to these words
that say everything
& nothing? to,
as herbert says,
the land of spices/
two poems for
jean valentine, my poetic mother
though she knows it not
(the link is to her reading the posted poem)
& geo. herbert
my poetic father
(i've told him, he knows he's my father as
i've prayed to him many times.)
by Jean Valentine
as if at its center,
god would be there—
but at the center, only rose,
where rose came from,
where rose grows—
& us, inside of the lips & lips:
the likenesses, the eyes, & the hair,
we are born of,
fed by, & marry with,
only flesh itself, only its passage
—out of where? to where?
Then god the mother said to Jim, in a dream,
Never mind you, Jim,
come rest again on the country porch of my knees.
i forgot to post this on easter. can't let the season pass without sharing it, or reminding you of it.
by George Herbert
Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
Though foolishly he lost the same,
Decaying more and more,
Till he became
O let me rise
As larks, harmoniously,
And sing this day thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me.
My tender age in sorrow did beginne
And still with sicknesses and shame.
Thou didst so punish sinne,
That I became
Let me combine,
And feel thy victorie:
For, if I imp my wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.
inspiration: the mysteries that call us to prayer and poem
looking forward: dinner and bowling tonight with five of my six siblings (miss you, hilary!)