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Annunciation
The Moment Before Everything
To get to you, I traveled light years Through cosmic storms and dust. Only to find you sleeping On your simple cot. Stepping back, I folded, Quietly, My gray ragged wings. I could see why he chose you, The glow of your pure breath... I wanted to breathe in your innocent air, Look at your soft, Surrendered hands, Another second... Before I told you the news. Claudia Serra |
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Is these hers too? (Same style but different surname spelling, Serea)
After the Storm Giants sat here after they ran through the field. It’s calm now. Under my feet, the ants rush to rebuild their ravaged homes and highways. A chickadee calls my name in the pear tree. I don’t answer. There is nothing I can do. In the sky, God sweeps the debris over the horizon line, paints his house blue and fixes the fence. ********** Late at night, the light is still on In his repair shop, the old man shines the shoes of the immigrants, fixes the heels with nails he holds in his mouth, and glues the broken soles. |
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 Originally Posted by Wondergirl
A chickadee calls my name in the pear tree. I don’t answer. There is nothing I can do. The pathos in those lines is palpable. Afterwards ('After The Storm'), it's calm with the passing of the 'giant' that devastated even the ants. I ('my name') am helpless to make it like it was but nature ('God'?) moves the storm away ('over the horizon') and restores the blue sky ('paints his house blue') and ('fixes the fence') - all is again well with the world. The above paragraph is an excellent example of why a poem can't always be explicated - at least not by me. Good poetry arouses feeling, not always words, and this one is loaded with feeling. It allows the reader to take the poem inside, wordlessly, to the heart where it can be discovered for the first time. |
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Originally Posted by Wondergirl
In the monastery they had a Byzantine Icon on the wall. The three figures represented the Holy Trinity. To the side in the background was an upside-down house. I asked the monk what did it mean? He said that the Incarnation turned the world upside-down, everything was topsy-turvy from that point on. He said it with such joy and conviction, I couldn't help but smile. Sometimes imagination sees in ways that doctrine never can. The title reminded me of that monk's outlook. There was one last moment before the angel announced that Mary would be the mother of God. After that moment came "everything" - the Incarnation would herald a new world, never to go back, and all things would change. (O Happy Sin!) I don't say it's for everyone, just the way one monk hit the heart of the matter and how it immediately got to me without the slightest need to parse what the monk said. To the monk, "Mother of God" was the homely way he thought of Mary. He wasn't speaking as a theologian. |
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Originally Posted by Athos
He said that the Incarnation turned the world upside-down, everything was topsy-turvy from that point on.
The title reminded me of that monk's outlook. There was one last moment before the angel announced that Mary would be the mother of God. After that moment came "everything" - the Incarnation would herald a new world, never to go back, and all things would change.
How about this phrase: "My gray ragged wings"? |
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Originally Posted by Wondergirl
What he meant was everything will be new, not just restored. But that's a great thing about poetry - we can have different ideas about the poem, one as valid as the other.
How about this phrase: "My gray ragged wings"?
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