[stylist] For what it's worth: Poetic prose post

[Jacobson, Shawn D]

Brigit

Thanks for sharing.  I found it interesting.  I was trying to understand what the events leading to the poem were.  I also read some of the back and forth about the poem before reading (which clued me in on some of the symbolism you used.  Very interesting, and, yes, reading this as a man is different.

I agree that Christianity and paganism are closer together than we as Christians like to admit.  I think it picked up a lot of indigenous religion as the faith moved through Europe.  I was in Sunday school last week where we talked about the life of Jesus and I realized that we'd understand better if we had more knowledge of the Jewish nuance of his life.  We as Christians have robbed ourselves of much through the sin of Antisemitism.

Not a sermon, just a thought.

Anyway, it was a nice piece of work.

Shawn

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Bridgit Pollpeter
Sent: Monday, May 05, 2014 4:02 PM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: [stylist] For what it's worth: Poetic prose post

Wrote this a while ago. I actually forgot about it, but thought I would share it with you lot. I see it kind of, sort of being in the vein of Bill's and Chris's pieces, dealing with the earth and life in their own ways. Spoiler alert: Will explain it's intent afterwards for those who want it, smile.


Sacrifice

Holding our breath, we plunge into the darkness. Suspended, heartbeats bruising our soul, we are nailed to this action. The horizon is vertical and pale, divulging no secrets. We must wait, fettered to time.

Signs of relief speak a secret. They whisper promises swelling our hearts. We're chambers unable to contain this jubilee, and yet we must wait. Secrets only told by touch. Our hands, our lips, our bodies shout in unison; a long awaited chorus.

Sickness molds me into a vessel. I rejoice in the waves of nausea.
Swirling dizziness is a precious gift. The tender, sore spots cause a smile to spread. My body radiates the secret. We count the weeks in silence, scared to commit this joy to words.

Exhaustion weighs me down. A fuzzy, haze incapsulates me. Ross's warm hand strokes my back as the world sinks into the depths of my slow, steady breathing. I surrender to my captor. Our countdown almost to an end, I revel in this slumber to strong to avoid.

Colliding with reality, the secret has changed. Held safe, warmth is love , but a crack breathes this secret back into the ether. Wetness is the kiss of betrayal. Eden's tranquility soiled by rebellion. A blood sacrifice is required.

Wounds scabbed over threaten to release a payment. Circle of thorns to clarify this sacrifice. Like a wound in the side, blood pours this secret from my vessel.

Author's note: I would consider this poetic prose, meaning it has a poetic lyricism about it, but is structured as prose. It does not hold to any poetic forms. This is nonfiction, though very much an internal dialogue with hints of scenes, or actions. It's about the joy of finding out you're pregnant but afraid to be overly joyful about it. In the end, there's a miscarriage, the sacrifice required. I briefly use some pagan and Christian symbolism. This is a much more emotive piece. I see it loosely relating to the archeology thread as blood is required as a sacrifice to the earth, that blood is needed for life, and I was called upon to make that sacrifice, hence some of the pagan symbolism, smile.
It also has strong allusions to Christian symbolism too, though Christian and pagan symbolism agree a lot more than most want to admit, grin.

Bridgit P


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