An untitled poem of Cheerios and sap

A brown bowl-cut absorbing

the scorching summer sun,

but all that’s on her mind

is Cheerios, splayed on the

lacquered floor.

Lace-edge, socked feet dangle over

polished pink shoes, glinting the rays

from the patchwork window

into her attentive eyes.

 

Her voice squeaks over the congregation,

too agitated with anticipation.

The tune overcomes her want for

whole-grain loops of goodness,

and she bursts out above the

weekly mumblers of passive faith.

 

And he will raise you up on eagle’s wings.

Bare you on the breath of dawn.

Make you to shine like the sun,

and hold you in the palm of his hand.

 

At home,

her Cheerios are simple, sweet.

Perfect circles, floating in the white abyss,

and true faith still shown in her smile.

 

 

…once again, I have no idea. This one is far worse. Someone rip it apart for me so I don’t feel so bad about how awful this is. Please.

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2 thoughts on “An untitled poem of Cheerios and sap

  1. Let me say that I’m a little slow when it comes to poetry, but I actually enjoyed this poem after I read it through several times. You said, someone “Rip it apart for me”. I’m no judge of poetry, but it seems to me if it powerfully or effectively conveys its message or intended emotions, then it need not be ripped apart at all. One difficulty I have with most poetry is getting lost in the symbolism and being unsure of my footing in understanding what the author is actually saying. I believe I’m clear in this one, however, and this is what I think I hear you saying:
    First, you obviously are the little girl. Perhaps this is an actual flashback, or only a symbolic one. I think you are portraying a girl with childlike faith who is acting in good faith in a church setting that far from it – bursting out from the heart in exuberance among people who are merely “mumbling” and going through the motions. (and that phrase was very effective) What this little girl lacks in sophistication with her “squeaky” voice, she bears in heart, and out of that heart a very real assurance comes across to her (or rather, to you) – hence, the passage re: eagles wings, bearing you on the breath of dawn, etc. (which I also liked) In the end of the poem, you are left with your childlike faith that manages to survive the faith-crushing legalisms, observances, and rituals. I believe the end of the poem represents where you are now – going back to a time of simplicity – of simple childlike faith. Am I close?
    Thoughts: I wonder if there is a seed of reality regarding God that you’ve touched (or rather, has touched you) at some point in your life. I also wonder if that seed needs nurture, refinement, and maturing. Nearly everything you write gets back to these issues. There is a powerful inner search that drives you in these things. Also, there is something about both your search and thought process that reminds me of the book, “One Thousand Gifts”, by Ann Voskamp (can be purchased on Amazon) She has an eye for both beauty and poetry, along with an intense spiritual perception, and I would highly recommend this book for you. One phrase from her book that reminds me of the theme of your poem is:
    In time, years, dust settles
    In memory, ages, God emerges.
    Then when we look back we see God’s back.

    Other quotes are (and I take notes on everything I read):

    Things may explain mechanics, but how do the eyes of the soul see?

    To slow time and fully enter life’s swift current, enter into each moment with the weight of all your attention. In doing this I slow the current to the weight of “Me all here”.

    In the present time asks us to do the hardest of all- just open wide and receive.
    Fully immersed in the present the river slows to a still, and God Himself is timeless.

    The supreme gift of time- God Himself framed in moment.

    Time is of the essence because time is the essence of God, I AM.
    This I need to consecrate- time.

    The clock ticks slow. I hear it for what it is. Good and holy.
    Time- what God first deemed holy above all else. (Gen 2:3) Thank God for time and very God enters that time.
    When I awake to “I am here”, when I am present, I meet I AM, which is the very presence of a present God.

    “Here” is the only place I can love Him.
    I am a hunter of beauty, and I move slow, and I keep the eyes wide.

    With thanksgiving, I redeem time from neglect and apathy and inattentiveness.

    Simplicity is ultimately a matter of focus.

    Hurry always empties the soul.

    What will a life magnify, the world’s stress cracks, the grubbiness of the day, all that is wholly wrong and terribly busted, or God?

    Her list of 1000 Gifts list (things to be thankfor for) began:
    1) Morning shadows across the old floors.
    2) Jam piled high on the toast.
    3) Cry of a blue jay from high on the spruce.
    4) Wind flying cold, wild in hair.

    Another book that I would highly recommend to you is Wendy Alec’s book, “The Fall of Lucifer”. I’m not much for fantasy, but this book is riveting, excellent, and insightful. Beyond its spiritual relevance it is just plain good fantasy writing.

    There! I went from talking about farts to serious spiritual matters in just moments!

  2. P.S. I thought you did a very effective job in the poem of reaching back to a childhood memory, with the “bowl-cut”, etc. It places the reader right back in the memory.

*Insert your thought here*

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