Another Poem

Emboldened by the fact that no one said my last one sucked, I give you another.


It was silent where I heard you cry
Living out your dual destiny of
Slowly dying in the midst of life
You held out your crooked cup
Half-full of metallic gleam garnered
Like some broken-down beggar who,
Aiming for something greater,
(To be a mendicant monk, perhaps)
Now in blank descendancy
Spilling blood on wrists
Like tattoo on chest
Like fury in my breast
Like some pointless test
I have not studied for this
They did not teach me this
As if nothing had gone awry
In those sleight-of-hand hearts
Those culture shock eyes
Only disbelief and distancing
Without a doubt
Every tongue will kneel
Every knee confess


5 thoughts on “Another Poem

  1. If no one else will tell you, I will: this one is terrible. The imagery is faulty at best, the flow of the lines is worthless, and the focus does not exist.

  2. I can appreciate your input. And I’m not about to say anything stupid like, it’s my poem, you can’t judge it.

    But give me some specifics. I see a focus (of course, I wrote it); what about the imagery do you see as “faulty”? My education is not in poetry (although I think the use of language is similar in sermons), so you’re going to have to help me a little more than your brief comments.

    Out of curiosity (this is not written defensively), what’s your background for judging poetry?


  3. I have a BA and an MA in English. It is a very good poem. I like the juxtapositions: silent/cry, living/dying, disbelief/without a doubt. What an intriguing clash of ideas! I also like the unity underlying the somewhat disparate images: “dual destiny”, “crooked cup”, “blood on writsts”, etc. The poem hints at various concepts without stating anything too obviously: pain, desperation, confusion, aspiration, sacrifice, communion, and finally hope. It knocks me off-balance and forces me to grapple with my own “destiny”, with the historical Christ, and with those around me who suffer (whom I should treat as Christ).

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