Of the Divine Mysteries (a prayer for understanding)

Day 4:  A poem about a religion you don't understand

Of the divine mysteries
of our forefathers' faith

We pray for understanding

Of the faith they hefted
like bundles of sugar cane

We pray for understanding

Of the pure white faith
like sacks of fresh picked cotton

We pray for understanding

Of the faith that kept us bound in isolation
with saws and axes in the forests

We pray for understanding.

For those who prayed to lay down their burdens
but never thought of putting down this one

We pray for understanding

For our blessed white savior
in the land of the olive skinned

We pray for understanding.

For hair of lambs wool to fall as feathers
on the shoulders of renaissance paintings

We pray for understanding

For the morning star and the angel of light
who turned out to be black

We pray for understanding

For a faith that demands obedience to authority
yet turns our ancestor spirits into demons

We pray for understanding

For a faith that turns its own forebears
into witchcraft and pagan devils

We pray for understanding

Of the mystery of being made in his image
but not worthy to question his design

We pray for understanding

Of an African cardinal
with a European mind

We pray for understanding

Of an American pope
who is wrong for loving

We pray for understanding

That 'America' is the child of
Europe's cruelty and New world innocence

We pray for understanding

For the difference between
Catholic, protestant, Anglican, and Adventist

We pray for understanding

Between Episcopalian, Pentecostal,
Rastafari and Baha'i

We pray for understanding

Of the ever broadening line between
Religion and Spirituality

We pray for understanding

Of what god the birds sing to
when they wake each morning

We pray for understanding

Of why I should not dance in church
when everything else in nature does

We pray for understanding

Of what makes Abraham's new God
better than any of the old ones.

We pray for understanding

Of what makes Abraham's old God
better than any of these new ones.

We pray for understanding

For the supreme knowledge
of taking knowledge with you

We pray for understanding

That despite what you might think
I can believe in several things at once

We pray for understanding

That any dissonance in my cognition
is the radio being tuned towards harmony

We pray for understanding

That my questions about your faith
does not make us enemies.

We pray for understanding

That I love you
and that's all there is to it

We pray for understanding

The Preferred Method of Writers

Day 3: A poem about how you wish to die

If it worked in prose for Virginia Wolf
And it worked in poetry for Eric Roach
When the calm, cool face one day gives me a wink
I'll read her my sappiest one yet, I should think.

Dry Season 1

Here, it is always
cicadas hidden deep in
whispering bamboo

and boisman singing
bout how this place have tiger
striped with old brawl scars.

Heat comes from within:
the Harmattan in our lungs
red dust in our eyes

Young boys drink too much
red bull and johnny walker
staggering anger

Who knows what to do
with a man these days? Give him
room enough to burn

Without catching
us all a'fire.  Burning
both bush and garden

Sac pase, ay'ti?
We are, all of us, burning
in this endless heat.

But boismen know well
the secret of singing in
whispering bamboo

of bringing flambeau
to riverside.  Of making
steam to turn turbines.

Of carrying rage
in belly, in hands, in throat.
Of wailing like men.

Of meeting drumbeat
with karray.  Of that fire
that makes gardens thrive.

So sing the lavway.
Pass body and bois through flame.
Here it is.  Always.