Two pieces I wrote in a Poetry workshop at Grub Street, first a bit of prose, second the start of an Ode to my Priesthood. Both need work, but they are a start and you have to start somewhere. Enjoy!
Poetry 101, I’m walking down the Yellow Brick road and have hit the woods. Lions, tigers and bears, oh my, as I read, lyric, epic, and ballad, oh God, what does it all mean. Suddenly the trees are throwing apples as thoughts jump out and I’m awash trying to sort the good from the bad. It’s good that I don’t know what I’m doing, trying to write, revise, write, revise, somehow my revision sounds like the old vision. Do these words push, change, break down the boundaries of the social order? More like they creep into my head like an ear worm that eventually becomes so annoying that I just need to write them, so as to corral their wildness within.
I put on my cloak of invisibility,
black shirt, white collar,
going out into the world.
a sinners worst nightmare,
the priest walks the streets,
reminding them of old wounds,
unrequited loves and darkness.
They are bound by these sins,
as tightly as Lazarus in the grave.
Not knowing that this one to,
is bound by those same bonds.
A sinner walks with them,
filled with fears, the ghosts,
haunt every step, the grave grows deep.
No miracles to be performed,
as prayer becomes dry and dusty,
the wilderness in the midst of life.
Longing to heal the pains,
powerless against the rising tides.