Among the angels—3 poems

Kenny among the angels

 On a small strip of land alongside a Louisiana bayou
 a loner searching for soul pitched his tent
 threw up a one-room shack and cast not seeds 
 but his thoughts on the land; mapped out his quest 
 with bricklayer’s hands in the concrete, cement,
 bricks, household paints his fingers knew.
 Through tight-knit winding paths, over ten years 
 his sculpture labyrinth grew.
  
 A lighthouse in bright fairground colours 
 hosts jazz players, cowboys, horses, strange
 creatures; a naked boy climbing, reaching 
 for ‘jeans / T-shirt’ Kenny flanked by two angels 
 one dark, one light—devils off left.
 No turn, no corner below without angels:
 blessing & guiding, judging & vengeful,
 harp-playing, smoking a spliff.
  
 See Christ figures, eagles, symbols of circles,
 with everyday folk, all colours / sizes / ages,
 a part of the whole. 
                                        And Kennys 
 —features changing with time—
 sitting in peace / listening to shell words /
 raised high by an eagle / cross-bearing / brought 
 to his knees / nursing a bleeding heart.
  
 He’d never explain what a sculpture meant
 but let others in to wander, see with fresh eyes;
 knew perhaps how fragile is meaning’s grasp,
 how quickly changed.
  
 One day he vanished, sculptures abandoned,
 a Christ head smashed to the ground. 
 Left the only words he ever etched in cement
        Enter into my heart—it is empty
        Hell is here 

 But the garden endures; charged with
 unanswered questions, questions in 
 solitude maybe each of us asks. 
 Where locals work freely, show you around.
 Where the shrimp fleet moors alongside
 each Festival Day to be blessed. 
Chauvin Sculpture Park
The Art of Kenny Hill Chauvin
Louisiana USA
Flickr/Dawn Blankenship

Walking

 I sought you in the clouds
        In all their floating, towering, glowering forms
 I sought you in the rain
           In softest benediction, lashing storms
 I sought you in tall grasses
           Some light as air, some dense, impassable
 I sought you on yielding turf
             On rocks and screes
 In moving water
              Birdsong
              Rustle of leaves
 I sought you in every sound 
              That touched my ears
  
 If I could say I found you
               Then I would
 All I can do is walk and suck and soothe
                The splinter of belief deep in my flesh
 That you are somewhere, somewhere
                 Within reach

From collection Hidden, Oversteps Press

Miroslava Panayotova – Autumn Leaves © 2020

A Meditation on Windows and Sky

 All I ask of a window
 is that it should open to sky
 
 Sky is truth elemental
 however it changes sky does not lie
 is raw beauty   hope   the filter of life
  
 Sky lifts our eyes   connects   reflects
 all that we feel
  
 shouts with our anger   shines with our happiness
 laughs with our loves   races with grey rafts of doubt
 weeps with griefs    
  
 Sky wraps the rare gift of all that we are
 in layers of fragile tissue to cherish   handle with care
  
 Feet were made for the earth
 Sky unshackles the mind   lets us
 fly up and beyond 

©2020 Patricia Leighton
All rights reserved

Author:

The focus of "The BeZine," a publication of The Bardo Group Beguines, is on sacred space (common ground) as it is expressed through the arts. Our work covers a range of topics: spirituality, life, death, personal experience, culture, current events, history, art, and photography and film. We share work here that is representative of universal human values however differently they might be expressed in our varied religions and cultures. We feel that our art and our Internet-facilitated social connection offer a means to see one another in our simple humanity, as brothers and sisters, and not as “other.” This is a space where we hope you’ll delight in learning how much you have in common with “other” peoples. We hope that your visits here will help you to love (respect) not fear. For more see our Info/Mission Statement Page.

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