Poem: "Easter Wings" by George Herbert

This is a great "concrete" poem. Notice in the shorter lines, the length echoes the sense of the words. And of course the whole shape of the poem echoes the theme. Happy Easter!

Easter Wings by George Herbert : The Poetry Foundation

Poem: "One of the Twelve"

I am sharing some of my poetry for National Poetry Month. It is dark on Holy Saturday.

One of the Twelve

I couldn't help myself
It all happened so quickly and I did what I thought I
Was supposed to.
He was marvelous!
I remember his soft brown hair and his hard words.
“Sell everything you have!”
Who could follow that?
He knew me. He knew what was in my thought,
In my eyes, in my purse.
I thought it was the right thing to do.
How the rabbis glared at me over the Torah stand
In the Temple stick with incense smoke
And hate.
Thirty silvers for you Judas,
Thirty! You, son of a no one, could be rich.
Oh, I am just like them!
I have killed my God!
That night,
I remember the room. Those narrow black stairs
That led to our door, our room.
I never intended to do it. That night
He passed the bread, was so peaceful,
The rough, quiet table
And carved oak cup, filled with friendship.
I felt at rest for the first time in my life.
All of us, the Beloved, James, even Thaddeus asked in wonder.
Only I got the answer.
“Go and do what you must.”
I had to do it,
He said I had to do it.
Those sinister coins tricked me,
The black pouch felt so heavy on my belt,
It was cool and smelled of myrrh.
So many times we had given coins away.
Oh I hate Him! With his stories and images
And ways of life and his Father!
They ruined me!
I have no glory, no kingdom, no friend,
Only a broken, lonely field.

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© October, 10 1988 - Scott Lawrence Lawson

Poem: "The Victim"

I am sharing some of my poetry for National Poetry Month. This one, in a villanelle form is a very different tone from yesterday.

The Victim

The emptiness rings behind her back,
The tilted street shines black and wet with rain,
She waits and waits and waits for attack.

Fear seeps into her mind through every crack,
And soaks her every thought and move with pain,
The emptiness rings behind her back.

She wonders what she has that he lacks,
And what on earth he hopes to gain,
She waits and waits and waits for attack.

She knows she hears the heavy footsteps clack
That always echo monotonous, loud and plain.
The emptiness rings behind her back.

She thinks of good and warmth and tries to black
Out the frozen memory that has stained
Her mind and heart and soul and face and back.

Any moment she'll feel the familiar whack,
Sprawling her on the floor or street again,
The emptiness rings behind her back.
She waits and waits for the typical attack.

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© 1988 - Scott Lawrence Lawson

Poem: "Forever Eleven"

I am sharing some of my poetry for National Poetry Month. Enjoy!

Forever Eleven

What a fabulous love is this love that we love,
What a thunderous tabulation of kisses and songs,
What a trick: a canonization of tumultuous times that
We had, are having, and will ever on have
'Til the end of all time, all strife, and separation.
I will love you & you will love me, until gravity ends
And gravity bends to a positive sensation -
We are friends, we are lovers, we are perfectly matched,
And I hold on to you, and move into you, and sing by your side.
You're my guide, and my light, and my forever elation:
What a fabulous love is this love that we love.

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© Scott Lawrence Lawson

Poem: "Poetry"

I am sharing some of my poetry for National Poetry Month. Enjoy!

Poetry

The inky lines pierce my head,
I shout and shout, I’m never heard,
“I must stop thinking,” I said.

My choices are opinion fed,
In my road is paved with words,
The inky lines pierce my head.

“You stink of ritual!”, the madman said,
He eyeballs me and no one stirs,
“I must stop thinking,” I said.

I tremble, thinking of what he said
And of my belief in the absurd
The inky lines pierce my head.

Poetry and life are alive, not dead,
Type is not mine, ink not yours,
“Never end your thinking!”, I said.

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© 1985? - Scott Lawrence Lawson