Do you remember when we met
in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless,
and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing
you, when we were young, and blushed with youth
like bruised fruit. Did we care then
what our neighbours did
in the dark?

When our first daughter was born
on the River Jordan, when our second
cracked her pink head from my body
like a promise, did we worry
what our friends might be
doing with their tongues?

What new crevices they found
to lick love into or strange flesh
to push pleasure from, when we
called them Sodomites then,
all we meant by it
was neighbour.

When the angels told us to run
from the city, I went with you,
but even the angels knew
that women always look back.
Let me describe for you, Lot,
what your city looked like burning
since you never turned around to see it.

Sulphur ran its sticky fingers over the skin
of our countrymen. It smelled like burning hair
and rancid eggs. I watched as our friends pulled
chunks of brimstone from their faces. Is any form
of loving this indecent?

Cover your eyes tight,
husband, until you see stars, convince
yourself you are looking at Heaven.

Because any man weak enough to hide his eyes while his neighbours
are punished for the way they love deserves a vengeful god.

I would say these things to you now, Lot,
but an ocean has dried itself on my tongue.
So instead I will stand here, while my body blows itself
grain by grain back over the Land of Canaan.
I will stand here
and I will watch you
run.

Karen Finneyfrock

Frenzy

February 2, 2019

I am not lazy.
I am on the amphetamine of the soul.
I am, each day,
typing out the God
my typewriter believes in.
Very quick. Very intense,
like a wolf at a live heart.
Not lazy.
When a lazy man, they say,
looks toward heaven,
the angels close the windows.

Oh angels,
keep the windows open
so that I may reach in
and steal each object,
objects that tell me the sea is not dying,
objects that tell me the dirt has a life-wish,
that the Christ who walked for me,
walked on true ground
and that this frenzy,
like bees stinging the heart all morning,
will keep the angels
with their windows open,
wide as an English bathtub.

Anne Sexton

After life

July 20, 2018

here is no bright blinding light
nor warmth of rapturous gods
waiting at the end of tunnels
no uplifting, lilting voices of invisible choirs;
sans seraphim and angels most bewitching
mortal tears cannot capture
the beauty of their being.

There is no darkness or demons lurking
inside a cauldron of fiery spheres
nor sulphuric screams over carnal pleasures
too jarring for the drum
and no appeals for brief release
from biting anguish to a distant lord.

I tell you Brother,
here we are fathered for higher purpose
honed from nightmares of the living
reshaped to be monsters among men.

Sharla Anderson

unlock the mysteries

January 2, 2018

i’ve always known since i was a stringy-headed knobbed knee little girl that there was something or someone spectacular guiding my life. every little unknown childish step was wisely and patiently being guided. directing my eyes toward the ground where i would pick up that one special leaf. directing my eyes to notice that one piece of gravel that didn’t look like typical driveway gravel. no, this gravel had that one side that sparkled when the sunlight hit it just right. in my mind, it was no longer gravel. it would now become a magic rock. my very own magic rock. with my magic rock in one dirty impish hand and my special leaf in the other, i felt like i was on to something. like a hidden truth. a mystery that i would strive to unlock for the rest of my days. I was 10.

i’m now making home in my 40’s. i still have knobby knees and stringy hair most days. i have earned some wisdom lines around my eyes. and yes, they are still childishly wide open with wonder. My nature walks are still just as enchanted. I am still looking for magic rocks, feathers, shells and leaves. i am still striving to unlock the mysteries of my life. my journey has taken me all over the place. i spent many years trying to conform to organized religion thinking this was the way to god. it had the appearance of genuine spirituality, but denied the power to truly connect me to my source. too many strings attached, too many opinions, too many contradictions. but something as simple and soothing as disconnecting from the noise and the opinions of others, and just sitting on the ground, and breathing in and out, did my soul some serious good. here it is nature again, gently wooing me. my guides, my angels, my faeries, my entire unseen holistic team, wooing me out off the confusion and into nature, into my element, where i can just be me.

Selena Parsley (MOONTIQUITY)

Aphrodite

December 22, 2014

gulls

oh lady of the foam
Aphrodite
a friend asks me
about Harmony
who is your daughter

what am I to say ?

I have heard her
enter the bar, have known her
to be amongst us, & lady
have looked up

suddenly in pure love

to find the strangest company
of angels & otherwise.