iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com

Poetry Café

Sunday, December 21, 2008. A response to Things To Do In the Belly). Like the mouth of the whale. No matter how Miraculous. It still feels like a cage. No man could survive being stuck in a whale. Anymore than they could survive being held underwater. Except, this Woman can. The necessary destruction of cutting open. Are they demons or angels, the spirits wielding knives? The rearranging of organic matters. That once worked to constitute. No man could survive being stuck in a whale. As I hold my breath.

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Poetry Café | iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com Reviews

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Sunday, December 21, 2008. A response to Things To Do In the Belly). Like the mouth of the whale. No matter how Miraculous. It still feels like a cage. No man could survive being stuck in a whale. Anymore than they could survive being held underwater. Except, this Woman can. The necessary destruction of cutting open. Are they demons or angels, the spirits wielding knives? The rearranging of organic matters. That once worked to constitute. No man could survive being stuck in a whale. As I hold my breath.

<META> KEYWORDS

1 poetry café

2 by iole damaskinos

3 large open longing

4 wide

5 who swallowed me

6 a life

7 so yes

8 the rearranging must

9 of birthing me

10 a second crashing

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poetry café,by iole damaskinos,large open longing,wide,who swallowed me,a life,so yes,the rearranging must,of birthing me,a second crashing,tipping the scales,weightily,because at night,choosing,2 comments,links,google news,edit me,by dan albergotti,hope

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Poetry Café | iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com Reviews

https://iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com

Sunday, December 21, 2008. A response to Things To Do In the Belly). Like the mouth of the whale. No matter how Miraculous. It still feels like a cage. No man could survive being stuck in a whale. Anymore than they could survive being held underwater. Except, this Woman can. The necessary destruction of cutting open. Are they demons or angels, the spirits wielding knives? The rearranging of organic matters. That once worked to constitute. No man could survive being stuck in a whale. As I hold my breath.

INTERNAL PAGES

iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com

1

Poetry Café: For Tre

http://iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com/2007/05/for-tre.html

Friday, May 04, 2007. I think of you in the mornings. Because I know you're out there. Wandering the empty hallways like I am. Over the dusty ledge. Counting cherry blossom petals. Offering your naked heartbeat. Posted by Pagan Nun at 5:23 AM. Ahiole.your poem paused me.filled me with deep gratitude and hope, and reminded me once again that even though much muck tries to hide our inner yearnings, we are seen.we are known.and we are able to connect and love and be . View my complete profile.

2

Poetry Café: March 2006

http://iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com/2006_03_01_archive.html

Friday, March 03, 2006. The Doctor Is In. What is the difference. Does the ambushed traveler. Splinters, exactly,. When should one stop. The shrink looks at her askew. Just as I thought! Posted by Pagan Nun at 5:12 AM. View my complete profile. A response to Things To Do In the Belly). Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale. By Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1925). Instructions For A Young Warrior-Priestess (draft). Creating Sacred Space: Birthing. Creating Sacred Space: The Mary Altar.

3

Poetry Café: Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale

http://iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com/2008/12/things-to-do-in-belly-of-whale.html

Sunday, December 21, 2008. Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale. Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days. Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires. With the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals. Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices. Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way. For the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review. Each of your life's ten million choices. Endure moments. Posted by Pagan Nun at 3:09 AM.

4

Poetry Café: May 2006

http://iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com/2006_05_01_archive.html

Monday, May 22, 2006. My son witnessed his first rainbow the other day. And ever since has been demanding. To be shown one on cue. Which got me to thinking. Greed used to be an ugly word. Conjuring up images of brutality. A songbird in a cage. But here is my son. Not knowing it is considered impolite. To constantly expect new miracles. Not knowing that to openly crave. Abundance is a faux pas. And suddenly I understand. Brutish greed is born of deprivation. The prodigal son surely stuffed. For him to eat.

5

Poetry Café: December 2005

http://iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com/2005_12_01_archive.html

Monday, December 12, 2005. I woke up this morning. And somehow I knew. That room bolted shut for years. Had been broken into. And I knew I had to investigate. Thinking I would find dust. Grown brittle with age. Dry, withered plants. Of the smashed in lock. I placed a trembling hand. On the broad ancient door. Inhaling as I did. Down, down, down. To a deep part. And I was shocked. Because this ordinary breath. Like a stiff shot. Imbibed upon returning from. I should have known right then. But how could I?

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iolespoetrycafe.blogspot.com

Poetry Café

Sunday, December 21, 2008. A response to Things To Do In the Belly). Like the mouth of the whale. No matter how Miraculous. It still feels like a cage. No man could survive being stuck in a whale. Anymore than they could survive being held underwater. Except, this Woman can. The necessary destruction of cutting open. Are they demons or angels, the spirits wielding knives? The rearranging of organic matters. That once worked to constitute. No man could survive being stuck in a whale. As I hold my breath.

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