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Posts Tagged ‘theology’

Mr. M’s cat’s tail curls like a question mark
and punctuates a body of work
that begins with an Augustinian smile.
It’s paw bats the black coffee
the old man drinks to slake
his thirst for imagination –
the nectar of his operations.

Mr. M drinks down slow soft suicide,
the kind nature once provided,
mixing contemplations,
while his cat caters
with all the birds it can kill –
but not for thrill or satisfaction,
for salvation
and it licks its theology from its skin
in the name of a humane God.

Mr. M’s cat’s tale turns like the world
its kitty cat calls are cries at the television
and its all for the moving image
his master doesn’t pay attention to.
A history channel special on a Cold War
he lived through,
the anatomy of the modern man
he has grown into,
documentaries on mantises –
lovers devouring, love devoured.

Mr. M’s cat has arthritis
so it’s steps are purposeful
like a poet’s pause.
It doesn’t pity itself though,
it pities the man
who scratches his terror
with pen and ink
rather than play outside.

Mr. M pauses to think
about his cat’s curled body
sleeping under the
crucifix of a risen lord.
After jotting down some notes
he grabs his coat
and while his cat sleeps some more
he walks the streets
speaking to people
who don’t know his language.

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Karmen Zuttra

A kiss that turns away
Tantric prayer
As if it were an eclipsing moon.
The shadows in her eyes stay
Broken by her auburn hair,
a big bang theory’s boon
To remove the God
So visible in her every turn
Or her stare.

A heart to prove sexual theology
the mind to learn how a naked pair,
Venus and Johnny Appleseed,
Decided to fall in love too soon
and how history is just an essay
without a thesis.

She never ceases to amaze,
How such an infinity still has a center
And how a masterpiece can bleed
Through skin so fair.
How her finger tips play
heart strings like a piano
Or how God must move comets
According to a plan.
Her soul knows the count of the dessert sands
she counts them during the nights
When her hands are deep in a prayer
that God might bestow
Enough mercy to make her suffering
Worth the knowing.

It is in her suffering, not her beauty,
that I share
Unity imposed by blind fate.
And it is not by choice, but by duty
that I care
For divinity’s confined state.

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