I love April... namely (okay, actually the only reason, usually) is because it is National Poetry Month! They actually showcase poetry in bookstores, instead of just hiding it on the one shelf in the back corner that seems to be continually shirnking away. One of my favorite lines ever is one of Frank O'Hara's that has stuck with me for years... "it's for ever I write because the struggle may knock the breath out of me". I am pretty sure I could not sum it up any better than that. I love words. I love that you have to do something, not just forever but FOR EVER... for everything, for always, just so you can BE. Great poetry, which is simply words put together can create such absolute beauty. A moment of absolute stillness in a world that never stops and less often reflects. That is exactly what fuels me. Words that stop and knock the breath out of me. It's for everything I write, because I have to be still sometimes; I have to know I can still feel and breathe and struggle.
That all being said, last night I took a stab at a more "faith-based" poem. Like everything I gush out, it was a two-minute endeavor and was basically vomitted upon the page... but that is how I roll.
"Grace"
Not by deservedness
But with fault do those eyes shin down
upon me.
Upon the mess that I rest in,
Yes the comfort of chaos...
Like veins running far and blue
under the pale skin on top of hands.
Flesh and bone
Given and taken
to this point, stretched thin
like begruged mercy.
Weakend by the elements, dry and cracked.
Grace by those eyes, shining down
And I think of the small, small price.
Just
faith.
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