The Trouble with a Poetry Blog

This hasn't been a poetry blog for a long time. I'm going to paste in some poems. They are sonnets I read to my writing group Saturday night which prompted one group member to say: "Now I know what that red cross in your painting is all about."

The cross appears in the lower right hand corning of a painting I have posted on my blog before. Beneath the cell phone on the right of the photo I'm posting today is Thomas A Kempis'
The Imitation of Christ. Most people would say the photo is religious. What about these poems?


Does the Clay Ask the Potter?

I. The Mumbling Nuns

I sit beneath a crucifix; at times
my eye will wander up the naked form
of Christ; he’s painted gold, his head
is bent, down and to his right, as if
attempting to admire his bloody feet.

For months my head’s had pressures of all kinds;
perhaps I need to turn my life to Christ;
is he some spirit who could show me how
to get past the conundrum of my doubt.
I pop a new CD in my machine.

The mumbling nuns that pass me in the halls
would surely say that it’s no accident
that Christ peers down at my fast-typing hands.
They’d probably tell me write what God commands.


II. The Prayer of St. Francis

Music starts inside my ears: a prayer.
Although the Walkman gives me headaches, I
must have my music. This prayer is the one
St. Francis wrote. Make me an instrument.
Is it just coincidence I’m here?
Some days I sit stunned inside regret,
as if each precious moment would feel better
if I’d forgone some pleasure long ago.
I wonder, though, if I might have it wrong.
It’s like a fortune cookie I once read:
life’s events transpire as they should.
This is of course not Christian but Chinese;
many don’t believe it and condemn
acceptance. Life’s a bitch for such as them.


III. The Singer

I’ve got the Holy Bible at my elbow
just because the sisters put it there.
Singing in my ear are several men:
a Christian group who buried their lead singer.
He was crushed beneath his SUV.

He really should have known that Jesus drove
a hybrid. I myself am slightly nervous
wondering if there’s some kind of holy law
that says a clay pot’s not allowed to argue
with its maker. Should I switch to prayer

of thanksgiving? It’s hard for me to thank
a God who will not put his holy hand
down on my aching head. A God who seems
hell-bent on rubbing acid in my dreams.


IV. Faith Can Be Easy

Faith hope love—the singer sings about
the three things that enable him to live.

I hear the voice of faith, I hear the hope
that God will not abandon those who love him.

Or even those who don’t, for loving God
can seem abstract, even to believers.

I’d ask God for the strength to know that things
that happen in some way are always good.

But if I smiled at all life’s tragic shit
what kind of person would that make me?

For years I’ve found it hard to figure out
if God’s a wimp or if he’s truly cruel.

However, somewhere in my skull I know
Faith can be easy like fast food to go.


So, now do you understand the cross in the photo? I must be dumb because I
don't. I mean it's not all crystal clear and focused like it apparently was to my
fellow poet. Feedback welcomed.

---Harriet.