Sumita Dutta paints

WOMAN

John D Robinson writes

DOUBLE SHREDDED
 

I love Doug Draime’s poem
about one of his women
who double shredded a
sheaf of 40 of his poems,
put the pieces of paper into
a plastic bag and set fire
to it on his front lawn
and he sat down and began
writing a poem out of
spite for this incident:
fuck, every damn poem
I write is done with a
similar feeling.

Aakriti Kuntal writes

Pariah

Fingers fold and crumple, 

Disperse 

particles of sand roam, 

widowed

and the earth spins, satin black

Structure remains, fist and cage

A false light imbuing air

with the treachery of hope

I empty my timeline

into a teacup

Watch it soak porcelain, 

amoebic stars feeling the clanking rim

We unsettle

where we form

Formation is endlessly ugly

and existence violent

Death arrives and collapses

between sleek fibroid lips, violet oscillations

Pretence extending like a sheet, 

holding cadaverous air

And the body continues,

in its endless lie

As unforgiving as your truth

 Pariah -- Marcos Dimas

Heather Jephcott writes

There Is Strength In Knowing Our Need

She held onto 

his fingers 

not often 

but at the points

in the pathway 

where she knew 

and he knew 

her legs were in danger 

of buckling 

or slipping.

There is strength 

in knowing our need, 

being willing to take hold 

of another's hand 

for strength is made perfect 

in weakness.

 

 Security -- Dana Jensen 

Jon Huer writes

THE SEDUCTION OF JOB: Twenty Years Later   

A Dramatic Poem 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Job faces a choice between dishonor and dispossession.

ELIHU:  

O Job, hear the king's verdict: 

The king has found you justifiably accused  

Of a crime against God, your wife, and Bashana. 

Your have been found in violation of a law enacted  

Both by God and man, unforgiving and grave. 

You broke the holy vow of God's matrimony,  

Betrayed the sweetness and innocence of your wife, 

And violated the law preserving maids and servants  

By the implied uses of your power and influence, 

Thus causing unspeakable harm and torment in Bashana.    

The king of Uz hereby renders his judgment. 

In his just and gracious administration of justice,  

Although the crime is unforgivable and heinous, 

The king shall grant Job, the accused,  

The choice between his honor and possessions: 

Either he will stand public trial for his crime,  

Or he shall forfeit all his possessions instead. 

The king has considered the special circumstance  

In which the accused is held in high esteem 

For his wisdom and piety, and charity and goodwill.  

Therefore, in his desire for justice and mercy, 

The king will grant the accused this grace‑‑  

A span of thirty days and nights to decide 

Which course of action the accused shall choose.   

JOB: 

How just and gracious is the king of Uz!  

He has granted a choice between dishonor and poverty. 

Either I keep my honor and lose all my wealth,  

Or I lose all my honor but keep my possessions. 

O in the horns of a dilemma must a sinner choose  

Between poison and sword, which shall be better‑‑ 

Between the Devil and the deep blue sea?    

Elihu, recall my first trial by fire long ago, 

In which I accused God of vengefulness and injustice,  

Of unreasonableness and unfairness to me. 

For I was innocent then, clear of wrongdoing,  

And certainly no violation of a law staining me. 

I cried unto the heavens in my innocence,  

And I demanded justice in my righteousness. 

I cried and I demanded until God heard me  

And gave me his answer in a whirlwind.

But now in this dilemma, terrible and lonely,  

To whom should I cry for a hearing, 

From whom would I demand justice?  

With this grievous accusation as my yoke, 

Where shall I turn for mercy,  

And in what cause will I lament my misery? 

Without my honor I shall be a laughing stock,  

Falling from the lofty place of esteem and envy: 

Only bitterness of poverty without my possessions,  

And no more comfort without the bounties of God.   

O Almighty, how could a man put himself  

In the thorns of an impossible dilemma? 

I want to cry but I have no one to hear me;  

I want to demand an explanation, but from whom? 

Without innocence I cannot cry out to heaven;  

With no one but myself to blame, 

I must suffer in desolate silence,  

For I am the cause of my own grieving heart.   

O the vagaries of life that torment me!  

One day I am in the summit of honor and piety. 

But the next I have fallen into the deep.  

Honor and dishonor, wealth and dust‑‑ 

I climb to one and fall to the other,  

At the slightest whim of the east wind. 

I want to run from the burden of my suffering,  

But where can I run without honor? 

I long to hide from the scorn and ridicule,  

But how can I sustain myself without possessions? 

I may keep honor but only in poverty;  

I can have possessions but only in dishonor‑‑ 

My cruel dilemma nullifies one with the other.    

Pain multiplies in silence; agony in darkness. 

Sorrow without company increases its strength,  

And no misery equals one endured in solitude. 

God turns away from me because I am not innocent;  

Angels stop singing for me because I am guilty. 

Alone and in silence must I bear my despair,  

Who would hear my silent cry?

 Job Rebuked by His Friends -- William Blake