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Words that burn

April 11, 2015

Skrymir:

A poem I wrote for a Good Friday service this year. Formatting wouldn’t allow me to post it here, so follow the link in the reblogged text.

Originally posted on goodfridayblues:

PoetryWeb

Poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn – Thomas Gray

Each year we invite a poet to create an original piece of poetry for the Good Friday Blues services. They’re given one or two of our songs and the service’s annual theme to use as inspiration. These works are always deeply inspiring to me, often moving me to tears.

This year’s poem was written by Adriel Brandt and was not just inspiring, it was unnerving. It made us uncomfortable with its raw honesty. This poem embodies the Thomas Gray quote above. Would that more poets had the courage of this young poet; I hope to hear more from him in the future.

You can access this poem here.  Let it breathe and burn within you.

View original

14. Sunday

April 2, 2015

15/02/2015

We wandered slowly to the field
and rested on a wooden fence.
With orange blossom tea in hand
and sunshine at our backs, we took
some photos to remember how
the sunlight set our hair to glow;
we talked and stood in silence; studied
moss and held each other closely,
lost to time in patient love.
The air was cool, your sweater soft,
our voices calm and happy, glad
to share that Sunday, heart and soul.

Early summer

March 9, 2015

In bygone cul-de-sac, upon
old pavement, early summer fun:
I kissed the green snake’s copper lips
and shed my skin beneath the sun;

I tumbled and I laughed, on trips
and sprawls, my back chose pavement chips
as riders. Not to be outdone,
my heart and mind the world equipped.

In sunlit forests, earlier
that afternoon, my soul unfurled:
I kissed in secret canopy,
and desperately I held to her.

Of old and new, in street and tree,
my soul in you, your soul in me.

Ancient cedar, mighty pine

February 17, 2015

Oh ancient cedar of the valley deep
instruct me in your ways of peace and light,
and mighty pine be with me in my sleep.

Instruct me in your arms, of earthen beast,
of silver fish, of bird in flight,
oh ancient cedar of the valley deep.

Instruct me in the void, of how to weep,
of how to live in darkness, love the night,
oh mighty pine be with me in my sleep.

I’d like to breathe your scent and let it seep
into my pores until it cleans my blight,
oh ancient cedar of the valley, deep

into my soul I want to draw you: deep
into the winter of my heart. You fight,
oh mighty pine, beside me in my sleep,

but when awake, I am not evergreen.
So be with me new life when it is light,
oh ancient cedar in the valley deep,
and mighty pine be with me in my sleep.

10:00 am. At a work meeting. Time slows down.

January 28, 2015

Somewhere beyond the books a printer whines,
and in the mustard-coloured pipes a bird
cajoles me for escape, but I am trapped.
My ugly orange pen scrawls out these lines
pretending to take notes–Oh take me now!
His voice drones on; the meeting drags; my eyes
glaze over; tiredness steals me; I am gone.
“Becoming One,” “The Transformation of
a Heart,” and “Marriage Revolution” stare
at me and mock my intellect as I’m
already subject to a damning crush
of mental dryness / desert / washed out / cracked
and sieving sand. I rub my eyes and some
comes out and sighs upon the table–AH!
my name’s been called!–ignore me, please!–oh Lord!–
please leave me be!–oh God!–oh good. We’ve moved
on to my neighbour. Thank the fates. A sigh.
I will survive. I will diminish.

To see you thrive

January 16, 2015

L

You speak upon your daytime bed,
through aching gut and pounding head,
“Forget me, dear, I will survive.”
But oh, I’ll pray, and oh, I’ll strive,
to see you thrive,
to see you thrive.

S

In living graves, you blameless lie,
and crushed by Earth, you softly cry,
“Just pass me by, I will survive.”
But oh, I’ll fight, and oh, I’ll strive,
to see you thrive,
to see you thrive.

A clear day at work.

January 13, 2015

The mountains aren’t so far away
on clear days in the valley. Seems like I
could walk there in an hour, studying
the crystalline decor of snow upon
their sunlit sides–

but then it fades,

and into twilight stretches out
the road. The mountains’ golden skin
turns cool and blue and I can feel
my strides grow shorter in the night.

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