Ineffable (More Tornado Prayers and Such)*


Ineffable:
Too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words;
Too sacred to be uttered.*
~~~

The whimpered cries of the dying
in the rubble of Bangladeshi avarice,
announcing we were worthy of life,
to which we think to ourselves,
agreed upon
with our,
a whispery, silent
amen.

The still alive cries of children,
tornado-tormented parents screaming unfair,
teachers body shielding their charges, whispering
save us Lord, from your inventive toys,

to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.

But here comes the Oklahoma tornadoes again,
now four more dead in Houston,
selecting the innocent, the brave,
logic in any of this, none,
nonsensical at its worst

to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.

~~~~~
The first I-am-alive cries
of new born lungs,
I have grandson, stain-less, perfect,
recovering in the stainless steel delivery room,
I hear the all babies in the neo-natal unit in unison
pronouncing a Hebrew blessing,
the Shecheyanu...

(Blessed are You, Lord our God, Master of the universe, who has kept us alive and sustained us and has brought us to these special moments)

to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.

These unspoken poem devotions of adoration
of the sleeping chamber, that cannot
be heard or answered for they're dreamt and
perchance in the morning thankfully recalled,
enough to be transcribed,

to which we think to ourselves,
a whispery, silent
amen.

Ineffable.

A day,
just another supplying an average day
to the mass of average.
Birth + Death = an average day.

I thank a God for the
birth of a newborn perfection

On this day the newspapers report
about silence of the God others pray to,
could be the same deity,
reporting that in his holy places,
Jew spits upon Jew,
Muslims usurp Christian lives,
all for none,
all forgetting in
whose image they were created.

to which we cannot say nor think
anything.

Ineffable.

too sacred to be uttered,
so instead of the paucity of these un-uttered words,
know that each tear in
the reservoir of my eyes
is my unspoken poem prayer.,
my amen.

Instead of answering
amen out loud,
wipe my eyes
with your fingertips,
silently.

An ineffable amen

~

a critique... an exposé

~

he is to prose
what twilight is
to coming night.
he, no ordinary cup,
though to this reader
coffee no less loved,
but ’tis far less apropos,
than mulled with wine
at sipping time;
when words begin
to simmer,
slipping slowly,
slightly,
off the tongue;
when evening’s ease
has just begun.
its colors melting
stress away,
like dusk's caress
from heat of day,
his soothing ink
on parchment flows,
like savored sips
of sunset's glow
his ray of hope,
finds its way
through my window,
through my blinds;
strikes and
steals my heart,
his words
like soil finds
seeds that root,
that grow,
that sprout,
that bloom,
to fill this heart,
that is
my reading room,
and bid my entry
once again,
the safety
of a harbor... his,
this place
that renews...
that makes me whole!

~

*post script.

as my own bio reads,
“mostly i write, to and of, they
who offer this heart safe harbor.“
his step into my heart with this,
his ink on parchment, my soul’s bliss;
my thinly disguised tribute and review of Joe Adomavichia’s published works of his best prose, “A Step Into My Heart”!  

look, i’m a guy... you think i’m just gonna come straight out and admit that he got into mine?  now, just go on and buy your own **** copy, because you ain’t gonna borrow mine!

thanks for sharing your heart with the world, Joe!
don’t tell anyone else, but you know i love ya!