Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Lisa Stewart

The Inn

The Messiah
has come for the
lost sons of Babylon.
-Pillaging from the rich,
giving to the poor.
He waits at the Inn
for you to repent.
Mary watches
from the kitchen.
They bring her flour
for bread.
Jesus rests
A humble smile
upon his face.
We bathe his feet in
palm oil.
Take the thorns
from his crown.
He is not dead.
You can find him
at the Inn
when the yeast
is Risen.


When the winds blew across the derelict beach,
I knew you were never coming back. The storm had
lifted you to heights where we can only dream.
I followed the trail to the oceans mouth, and watched
the waves’ dance across the shore.
At dusk you appeared and stood silently beside
the orange sunset. I didn’t know what to say, words
seemed so meaningless, so insignificant in your company.
Your eyes glazed with the wilderness of oceans
shone in brilliant blue, drowned me in their stare.
As I sank beneath the water, drinking your freedom.
I watched your face linger between the light
and knew that you were home, a deeper sense of
realisation that all was well in your new world .
As I gathered the fallen feathers from your wings
and watched you blend into the sunset.


I search for you
where they wait to be fed.
Through the crowded space
of a square.
Walking the streets
each day and night
for one trace
of your hem.
There are beggars in halls,
actors in cafes.
I have seen their mouths
fill like starved refugees.
But I am not from that world.
I wait outside like Lazarus
-for crumbs.
I shall take my hunger to Paris.
or Lerici, to fill my soul with
the sleeping poets.
Daylight fades.
I must collect my bags.
Leave the streets
before dusk.

Left You Drowning In Rain

Thirsty in sunlight
Neglected like a broken doll.
Now I have seen your nature
as you breathe from these sheets
with silence on your tongue.
Asking for nothing
while I ask for too much!
It is spring
And I must take your
roots to earth
with my words
And let your freedom
— Sing!

Where Man Begotten

searches for reason.
Where life for the lifeless
beckons each sunset.
I am tied to the shroud
the one piece of light.
Where angels lay broken
and dawns pass unnoticed.

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