Sunday, September 19, 2010

i invoke the god bolt

before fire what fun was there,
what agents fueled the release
from daily strife and trial
to heal our livelong traumas
and signal the departure of care---
what sparked our smart stupor
to lighten mind, slow heart
                             and free spirit
before we could control fire?

did we wait for lightning to strike
the bush before we could dance
                             loose, raw and free
to let the smoke rise and enter
                            our aboriginal lung
set our primitive brains aflame
and give lift to our spirits
so the whole being of us
                            could rise to heaven?

were i then shaman of my tribe
would my energies be spent
promoting an absence of rain
with the coming of thunder?

and accidents of the hunt
that left my arms numb for life---
would they elevate my station
                           to bush man
                           tree warden
                           torch bearer
and steel my nerve for certain tasks,
to carry the smoldering log
bare handed to its proper altar,
for the sight of my coming
to signify an end of the wasting day,
bring onlookers to knees
and open palms to peace?

would the scent of my burning flesh
whet the true appetites
                           of my proud fathers
                           and womb dry mothers
and so incensed would our dear elder
not teach us to subordinate
                           earth and water
                           to wind and fire
with hope that ether would reign?

                           oh oh oh oh 
would indeed
and as ever, always,
for even before control
yet it was even
                           so so so so

let the wild winds come
let the earth at this time stand dry
bring forth the flaming branch
marshal the teary eye's pain

rise glorious inferno---
unleash your wilder spirits
possess each one of us
for we are a tribe of brothers and sisters
                         at war always
                         hungry always
sick and dying always
make us senseless and noble
give us peace and cause to rest

for something so random
i pray, live and die:
let the god bolt ignite the god tree
and make a god man burn in me.


  1. 'At war always, hungry always...'

    Fantastic. I sense conflict in this piece. Maybe I am wrong? Is it like you say, to 'pray, live and die?' I feel that life is a prayer, of chance. Either way we are doomed. I love the structure in this as well.

  2. life is a prayer, i can accept that. we tend to mark a beginning and end to certain things, like day or a conversation or even a trip to the grocery store. if we take a few steps back from our canvas, there is a beginning but yet an end, and so the whole of it could be a prayer. a few steps back still and the beginning may even be yet to occur. the conflict, if there is one, comes from not knowing anything for sure.

  3. I read much about allowing the divine to flow through us as humans. The conflict, the surrender, the capacity to allow the flame to burn through our idea of life and become transformed in it. I loved this, thank you for sharing it, glad to be following you. I love deep thinking, poetry and contemplating the meaning of being human...

  4. looks like i picked a good poem to bring in you in with then. there tends to be deep thought in the poems that cook on my stove. and then its just all deciding if they'll be savory or sweet. hope you will return again, to let me know.


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