Friday, February 25, 2005

POEM: Islam's Flower

The Taliban has beaten me and left me for dead
But I am stronger then they know,

There is no burka that can cover me so
Or hide what I think or un-say what I’ve said,

Allah be praised for He made the bed
From which I give these men life to grow,

to Live, to breathe, and blaspheme God so –
They've killed my husband, now send me off to strangers to wed.

The Taliban has beaten me and left me for dead
But I have more power than they know.

This burka of fear will be shed
From God's true mercy, I am Islam's true flower still to grow!

M C Biegner

POEM: When


When twilight
When twilight stretches out like a yawn
Through clouds
The ones that separate heaven and earth

When twilight reaches down from sky,
Like the arm of Michael the Archangel –

Willing to
Willing to pull me up –
Willing to do battle

When Twilight kisses me –
When Twilight transfigures –
When Twilight tickles me –

I am
I am made
I am made weak

When I am
When I am made weak

I know
I know neither up nor down as up or down
But I know boundless possibilities.

When I know
When I know I am made weak

When I know I am made weak,
Then freedom’s grasp is what I seek,
When I know I am made weak,
Freedom lies spilled white like milk that’s leaked,
I know it puddles at the feet of the meek.

M C Biegner 2/23/2005

Monday, February 07, 2005

POEM: The Crocus Performs a Most Courageous Act (A triolet)

The Crocus Performs A Most Courageous Act

The crocus performs the most courageous act
When she pokes her egg beak through ice and snows
To find warm light through nascent cracks.

Though she is free to give up at any time and turn back,
She does not, as urge becomes botanical fact.
The white tiger winter must know

That a crocus in April cannot be distracted
When she wears her white dress with that colorful bow.

Friday, February 04, 2005

POEM: The Pen

Ink drips downward,
And obeys a muscular gravity,
Races to the point
Like it has time to spare,
With no place to go;
Like a stretched B.B. King note.

This point, this needle, this focus of ink
scratches at paper
With snake-like sexiness

As curly-cue round as a Rubens.

Then, strings of the heart start to unroll,
Pressed flat like a buffet, for you to absorb.

Through eyes like straws
You suck up the meaning of ink;
You suck up what it means to be lonely;
You suck up being shut away from joy;
And yes, you even suck up death.

Burdened with the plenum of what it is to be human

Filling the tube of inky wash that is you
All the while
Emptying the tube of inky wash that is me.

M C Biegner