Saturday, 30 March 2013
On death and resurrection...
On this Good Friday when people’s thoughts turn to death...
Death plays his bone whistle.
They gather round.
Their low notes of mourning
Subsume the shriller octaves
Of his precocious assumption.
His livid skull rises
Above the Eastern horizon.
Hand joins hand, clasped tight,
Bones with cloyed flesh, enflamed,
Crackle his ascendance.
His hollow shin-bone beats
Upon the quaking marrow of the world
The slow chime of their macabre minuet
Stamping their seven steps in time
Upon the living dead.
Night follows day.
...to resurrection, redemption, the possibility of enduring beyond death...
And so it goes
Here the blight blows,
And blasts right through,
Sucking into breathlessness your anguish,
Fragile as a hollowed eggshell…
Teeth will grind, guts ingest those shards,
Will integrate fractions of you and all like you;
Compound them into new Selfhoods:
Ones for whom your ‘once’
You are nothingness,
All of you.
And so it goes…
two poems from my book of short stories, poems and illustrations, ‘Ana Thema’ - ISBN 9780955548635 p/b.