hurdygurdygurl (hurdygurdygurl)
09-16-2005, 09:40 PM
This is a poem I wrote last about one year ago, as I was travelling from Washington State to BC. Any comments and suggestions are appreciated as I consider all my poems a continual work in progress. I don't think a poem is ever actually a finished piece of work. It's dynamic.
And on a prophetic note, unbeknownst to me, Mount St. Helen's was just about to start billowing smoke, the most it had in years (while this was billowing inside of me!).
<u>My Primal Wound</u>
My primal wound,
gushes like a maddened volcano
Spilling and spewing forth red-hot lava
Like blood down the sides of it’s own mountaintop.
From far away,
What a wondrous, miraculous sight to behold!
This awesome manifesto of heart’s inner core
My life desires cresting waves of determined healing.
Fate cries out,
Freedom! Hope! Come now and birth yourself!
In glowing, flowing rivers of crusted, silvered molten rock.
Force your yearning self through this softened, ripened cervix
Of my heart,
I am tired, torn, beaten and almost completely worn-out.
Yet suddenly quickened, now bearing down on fiery eruptions
Of crowning heads held high in liquid golden-amber flame.
My voice screaming,
Urgent alarum in anguished sounds of smoldering, threshold pain.
“Can a country be brought forth in a day or a nation in a moment?”
And “Who will welcome the grand arrival of this newborn, emergent life?”
Come now Love,
Writhe your pulsating self through this groundswell birth canal.
Perforce with vigor through this raging, rimmed-hot Ring of Fire.
Thrust your meek and mighty self into hallowed, presaged destiny.
Mother’s womb is gone. Child now is born.
Breathing has begun. Angels sing their songs.
Victory swords are drawn. This battle will be won.
Time now has come. For we have seen the dawn.
Please tell me,
Would we die a certain death?
If we could feel the burning spot
In God’s own manifold soul?
- September 2004
- See Isaiah 66:8
And on a prophetic note, unbeknownst to me, Mount St. Helen's was just about to start billowing smoke, the most it had in years (while this was billowing inside of me!).
<u>My Primal Wound</u>
My primal wound,
gushes like a maddened volcano
Spilling and spewing forth red-hot lava
Like blood down the sides of it’s own mountaintop.
From far away,
What a wondrous, miraculous sight to behold!
This awesome manifesto of heart’s inner core
My life desires cresting waves of determined healing.
Fate cries out,
Freedom! Hope! Come now and birth yourself!
In glowing, flowing rivers of crusted, silvered molten rock.
Force your yearning self through this softened, ripened cervix
Of my heart,
I am tired, torn, beaten and almost completely worn-out.
Yet suddenly quickened, now bearing down on fiery eruptions
Of crowning heads held high in liquid golden-amber flame.
My voice screaming,
Urgent alarum in anguished sounds of smoldering, threshold pain.
“Can a country be brought forth in a day or a nation in a moment?”
And “Who will welcome the grand arrival of this newborn, emergent life?”
Come now Love,
Writhe your pulsating self through this groundswell birth canal.
Perforce with vigor through this raging, rimmed-hot Ring of Fire.
Thrust your meek and mighty self into hallowed, presaged destiny.
Mother’s womb is gone. Child now is born.
Breathing has begun. Angels sing their songs.
Victory swords are drawn. This battle will be won.
Time now has come. For we have seen the dawn.
Please tell me,
Would we die a certain death?
If we could feel the burning spot
In God’s own manifold soul?
- September 2004
- See Isaiah 66:8