Cloaked Monk

alias: cloaked monk
burning heart: prophet and priest
disguise: normalcy

February, 2012

autobiographical monk

pigtails and freckles
playing in the rain
creating a world beyond
in the world

gathering flowers
for soup and pine cones
for bread and
planning nothing

present to the threshold
of water and light
of darkness and breath
of alone and communion

seeing
really seeing the boy
who lives across
the way in a ramshackle home

noticing beautiful skin
a smooth cocoa
noticing all the colors
are across the way

not here or there
but in the disheveled
and disturbed and
distressed across the way

dropping the soup
and bread and
screaming unfair
flailing fists at ghosts

picking up a rod
and a staff and
striding into
the blaze

August 2010

2 comments

  1. granbee said on February 27, 2012
    Oh, Terri, this reminded me so much of a house burning where one of my darker skinned playmates lived with his parents in tenancy on a neighboring landowner's large farm. This poem is truly beautiful, with the lines and the rhythms and the language matching the progression from carefreeness to hardy bravery and righteous indignation!
    1. Terri said on February 27, 2012
      That must have been a devastating experience to see. Thank you for your compliments.

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