Saturday, December 14, 2013

Rebirth

Sometimes a song inspires me with strong imagery through both music and lyrics, even if the words are in an unknown language. This poem is the story I envision behind the Karl Jenkins piece, "Adiemus." The words are not real words, but to me they are without doubt a prayer; not a mere supplication but almost with the strength of demand. A "Come, Lord Jesus" if you will. Let me share with you what I hear and see:















looking in through the window

of time and space, two all-seeing eyes

swiftly soar across field and plain, mountain and sea,

a whole planet of imprint divine.

dotted with fireflies, the wood is alive

and dancing with mythical creatures of wonder or

perhaps just the shadows of children clasping hands ‘round a bonfire,

tiny feet prancing lightly on hardened earth,

while flames leap high sending wisps of smoke

across the moon in starry night sky.


men beat their drums in sad, slow rhythm

to voices everywhere raised in mournful song;

a flood of sound ebbing and flowing

to match the waves of pain escaping in harrowing groans

from a figure crouched low over patch of bare ground,

while a with-woman cradles the thrashing womb,

soothing, stroking the coarse,

dark hair resembling long tangled rushes planted by the mere,

weeping, weeping, weeping, all weeping together

for the one vast sorrow blanketing the whole terrain.


a collective shriek: a birthing of greatest magnitude;

larger than one, something that takes a whole tribe to bring into being,

hands moving, coaxing, tongues shouting at the heavens to relent,

shattering the surface of sky and breaking through the silence of space,

reaching for stars and galaxies with yearnings unfathomable,

tasting salt of tears and blood of bitten lips,

throats raw and burning with scent of woodsmoke

still crying out to be heard and healed

waiting, waiting, waiting for the questions to vanish

for an answer to fall, fall from the clouds.


a time-lapse rush

through oceans and rivers

billows up in a great crash

of “let there be!”

while life springs forth from turned up soil.

an orchard of abundant ripened glory

shines sweet

and forbidden no more

as a pair of strong and graceful arms

embraces the wide world.


jubilant shouts and sonorous laughter of celebration

erupt in a tremor of astonishing power:

spinning bodies, twirling skirts,

awe-filled multitudes

swelling in “holy, holy, holy.”

children crowd around to gaze in wonder

at the tiny, perfect form of bliss,

their hopes fulfilled at last

as the new earth is washed and wrapped and nursed,

nourished by the ones who brought her forth.


(This was inspired by a prompt from day 13 of 40 Days of Poetry with the Story Sessions Community.)

4 comments:

  1. If you go into the woods and are very, very still, you can feel the trees waiting for her, too.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Shivering deliciously. I was sure you would share my vision. <3

    ReplyDelete

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