poems from 2001

These are some poems i wrote during my period of post-freshman year angst.

12/13/01
A crescent of fire is there in the forest
It is burning with such fury, and such anger
I am far from it now, but once, I was not
Once, I found myself within the flames. It was then that I had a time to dance
I was younger then, and I had a time to dance
And I danced in the flames. The drums sounded, and the flutes played. Many others danced with me
Their fury was like that of the fire. It singed the stars, and tore into space
The forest cried at us with fear
There it was that we danced
There it was that we saw our shadows
No creature could stand beside our fire
We were ancient, and we could not die
God looked down on our dance, and O! What mind of man can know what He was moved to say?
God is One, the Holder of Wrath. God was our Serpent, and we bowed down, His name on our lips in ecstasy.
Heaven shook and quaked under our feet as we danced in the flames
God is One!
God is God!
Holy is His name!
All wrath and all hatred and all anger were His on the nights that we danced. On the nights when the crescent of fire made the trees of the forest bend with sorrow, God was One
And our voices were lifted high on the smoke to Him
O! How we danced!
We clenched our fists, and God became angry
We bowed down, and God turned away
We beat the drums, and God inhaled the breath of all the universe
And He let forth all His passion on us
O! It was terrible!
O! It was horrible
O! God is One!
Our dancing was ancient. Our dancing was forever
Our dancing left ashes in the world, and covered the stars and the angels with black smoke
JA!JA!
JA!
JA!
JA!
JA!
JA!
God’s name was on our lips, and He cackled with wonder, His eyes wide and red!
GOD IS ONE!
GOD IS GOD!
JA!JA!
JA!
All through the night
Away from the cities, away from the roads and away from the castles
In the forest, God’s breath swept up all the heartless among men and laid them bare
Only our dancing was left
Only our dancing in the fire
And in the ashes
GOD IS ONE!
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Under what stone will you find me, O Lion?
In what crevice will I be folded into, in what shipwreck will you find my remains, O Faithful One?
I am the pillar of an ancient ruin, holding up a crumbling and weathered portion.
I am the saint whose image is carved in a sealed-off catacombs.
I am a fiery rhetoric, but my words do not travel outside my pages
I am a caravan trail across the desert, and I soak up the bones of those who have died in my heart
You will have to search many worlds if you want to find me, Yaweh!
For who am I but Yisra’el—he who grapples with you in the world of dreams
and in the world of pain.
Does your body change colors like mine does?
Does it slink into cool depths like mine does,
and wait in shadows?
I am that dungeon in whom the rebels rot away.
I am the shore from which slaves depart and their tears and blood have been my rain.
O God, this Daughter of Yours is veiled
Let not Her eyes be bitter fruit to you, Swift Gazelle!
Keep Her veiled
Keep Her away because I tell you the truth
You will not hear where her foot falls
Nor shall you taste of what her lips desire.
------------------------
Their wings rush, up and down. They find themselves less-alive in the eyes of God, discarded. Angels from on High, they wrestle with each other in the clouds, sweating and grunting, but it does not avail them.
What are they longing for?

Their skin cracks, these soldiers of the earth. Their guns are cold and they are waiting..

Their time together has been ordinary, husband and wife. The softness of their lives is beginning to poison them.

Their camels are weary and the water is bitter. A world moves fast around them, but the sand has always shifted

Their youth would have been that which saved them. But school is not a simple place anymore, and darkness has already covered their eyes.

Their robes are crisp and clean, their liturgies perfected. But a multitude drifts into sleep and they are left with worried faces and troubled hearts.

Their bodies are shivering, but still attractive. The clothes they wanted to wear had to be taken off again, and they die inside, their beauty is raped.

Their business is very successful, and at night they have comfort and a family. The emptiness grows thick. Their suits freshly starched

Their crops have not been as good as they could have been. They read the newspapers and keep their minds on the price of feed and the sun beats down. Their backs are breaking

Their wings are torn. The light around them is dim, their longing continues.
And they would kill to be human.
----------------------------------------
12/25/01
Harbors receive the ships that you have christened. On them I sail, and no longer fall to my knees to beg you for anything. My ship floats in and I stay on deck, admiring the scenery, but anxious to leave once more and become lost again. Only on the open ocean am I unknown and unknowable.

If it aches too much, do not bother trying to find me. Time is a dream out here, and I age in spite of the stars, in spite of history. My biography is one of circles and spirals, always returning, and always arriving. The clocks and the calendars are left bobbing up and down on the waves, their ink drained from the paper and invisible.

No, I do not stay in the harbors. My body has embraced the choppy and fluid existence of a forgetful pilgrim. No more will my feet strike out on a path, either certain or uncertain. No more will my yes mean ‘yes’ and my alliance calm the hearts of less-alive diplomats.
In the deep blue, a pair of eyes can devour what it sees. A pair of eyes can concentrate on one spot and no spot at the same time.
Here is where I am, O Fisher of Men! Here is where I catch your wind! Here is where I accept your invitation! There is no hurt for me, and no home for me amid ten million silvery flashing darts below ten million yellow flickering pinpoints. as far as I am concerned, here it is safe for me.
I will plant no flag on the horizon. I will trade no goods with dark and foreign merchants. I will throw no rusted anchor into strange sand.

These eyes will see everything they need to see, and be alive, for a change. These eyes will pray for a people whose hands are gritty and whose mountains are ever the same, heaving and tired. For them I will set a new course. For them, my voyage will continue.

A strong, sturdy ship, this, that carries me to and from you