Category: Poetry

Momentary Transformation

I expected this poem to be in Myths. It didn't make the cut.

 

Each moment

Deserves the special place of privilege

We hesitate to allow

Ourselves to acknowledge

For since we are not gods

It must stay unknown to us

In which of these moments

Our lives will be transformed

This is the power of the sacred

And the sacrality within each of us

That our lives and world may be changed

In the blink of our human eyes

© Gayle Force Press 2004

Killing Mercy

 

The quality of mercy is not strained

Not in this place

Not in this age

 

Mercy no longer exists

For us

 

Only force, power, control, domination, hegemony

 

What is real is not pretty

To anyone

 

So Mercy is still a name

Given to children

By ignorant parents

 

 

© Gayle
Force Press 2002

Angel

This poem appears in MOSAIC. It is one of my most requested poems at readings.

 

Our little angel's fallen

From the heaven we created

Since we built her wings
 
Of steel and flesh and bone
 
 

It looks as though she's chosen to fly
 
A little lower than we'd hoped
 
Though now we know
 
Her wings have always been too heavy
 
And heaven was never her home anyway

© Gayle Force Press 2003

Lilywhite Jesus

One of my faves from Myths.

 

It’s the lilywhite Jesus

I’m supposed to believe in

The evidence of things unseen

That guy in the pictures

Sometimes with a beard, always a mustache

Maybe lambs or a stream next to him

Long pretty robes almost, but never quite,

Obscuring his sandaled, pearl feet

The lilywhite Jesus

Who never lived a day on this,

The only Earth we have

© Gayle Force Press 2006

Broken Promises #3


My path in the world

Of winding confusion

Spins into itself

Taking me with it

The markers

I’ve placed

Have too many meanings

Warnings are only scarecrows

Salutations a locust plague

The moon’s glow soothes me some

But the sun still sets

Before it’s time

© Gayle Force Press 2004

Going Home

I expected "Going Home" to be in Myths but it will have to wait for another book. Good news, bad news.

 

 

Houses formerly homes

Pervade my memory

Prodding me to allow my mind entry

With the skeleton key of imagination

So I can amble

Up wooden stairs sullen

In their creaking howls

That lead me into dusty rooms

Anchored by hingeless doors

Standing opposite the dilapidated

Windows through which I saw the world

Each crack in the sill

Allowing a new direction

For my mind to wander

In youth just as today

© Gayle Force Press 2006

For Better or Worse


I didn’t remember his name

No, that’s not true

 

Mark Linn-Baker

 

What a funny, unforgettable name

I didn’t care to remember it I suppose

He didn’t matter to me

Really this Mark Linn-Baker was just there

Anchored in my brain

Alongside Dana Plato, Lisa Whelchel, Ken Kercheval, Roxie
Roker

 

And the rest of the litany of not quite stars

That worked so hard to barely imprint themselves

On my consciousness

The lot of them barely identifiable as individual entities

Except as who they pretended to be

And like me that’s the only important reality

The masks we wear for better or worse

 

 

© Gayle
Force Press 2006

 

 

 

 

Kitchen

This is one of the poems about which I've received the highest compliments. I think

many of us can relate to it in our own unique contexts.

 

I walked from the kitchen

Slowly stopped and turned around

The gentle bubble of pots on the stove

Sounded warm and beautiful

Inviting, so I went back in

Watching the lid dance over my soup

I noticed the dry, hot smell

Of cumin drowning in the sweet

Black juice of the beans

I felt the smile on my face

And wondered how many times

My granddad stood smiling in his kitchen

With the cornbread beginning to brown


© Gayle Force Press 2003