Petrichoric bliss
enchants droughted inhale. Drenched
by Red of sword’s chords.
*the sword of the centurion who pierced Christ
“…for they drank from the spiritual rock that accompanied them, and that rock was Christ.” 1 Cor. 10:4
Tag: Christ
you pulled away
the footsteps coiling around my neck.
a gentleness bled
into prints excoriated
the first rains crawling
along droughted river beds
shoe shaped cracks that choke
~
my heart swept up
into Your dark embrace
the Darkness beyond human myopia
seen only through the lens
of tears given Divine
You reached through dimensions
of suffering, the kind
that decodes DNA
and breathes, reanimates
Eye to eye
Heart to heart
humility scorned
now plays the part…
Photo credit: my husband
She climbed for the view…
over all of the pieces
missing in action
but so far from field
she was too high to collect
any meaningful
semblance of early
configurations of their
mis-relationship.
She had to go down
and follow the river bed,
to lie underneath,
to wait in the depths.
Heart broken by the sight and
defibrillated
by the breath of One
already there, bleeding out
poem’s syllables.
the flames…
shooting from the mirror
orange-ing my cornea,
engulfing visions of coin essenced gods:
one side indifference
flip side-
malevolent melodrama,
currency –
greed.
No,
I need the One
who stands in the flames with me –
melting in my place.
Breathing the purple
into my lungs.
saudade
It’s been a word on my mind for years. Well, not the word, actually. Because I don’t speak Portuguese. (And in case you don’t either: saudade)
But we all know its colours and its scents and its sounds. We all know where to go to find its vividestness. Perhaps, some kind of closet…
(And we all wish it were a word in English, because, I mean, Saudade!)
One of the things I love about CS Lewis…he can take a heartwrenching word like this one and give it resolution. Not by his own invention of course, but in his descriptions of Christ realities – whether he’s taking it to another heavenly/”far-off country”/Christ longing level in the Narnia series, (hidden in a closet, no less) …or in brilliant descriptions like this one The inconsolable secret.
I so love the word. I’d love to honour it in a poem. But I can’t. I’ve tried. I blame it on everything but my writing skills. And the experts tell us that if you try and it’s too hard, then you should give up… um, is this decaf?
Besides, as much as I love the truth in negative spaces, and torturing myself with it… I much prefer what Lewis has done…you know, reminding us of what Christ has done, is doing, will do: the consolable longing…
(*Note to self: I seriously need to learn another language…
*Note to you: I may still attempt the poem…just as a warm-up, there is this: nepenthe of nepenthes)
Photo credit: my husband
nepenthe of nepenthes
Compelled to her feet
He reminded her of the Garden.
It kept her walking…
Breathed to her healing
the Leaves’ Scent from the Garden.
She exhaled
running
to Light
piercing through dimensions
outlining her shape
the distant memory of tears
welling up
and spilling
on the River drenched Fruit.
She was flying …
Gen 2:7-9
Ezekiel 47:12
Psalm 34:18
Luke 10:33-35
John 19:34
Rev 22:1,2
Isaiah 40:31
Photo credit: Chase Miller
