#goliath
I miss my little brother. Especially at harvest. He was a hard worker – strong back and long reach. The kind of brother you want around.
‘Course, there was much more to him than strength and size. His art demonstrates that. He used to love experimenting with oils in his down time and had a knack for vivid battle scenes.
They say you paint what you know and not a year went by when he wasn’t called up for service. They would come to the farm to say the king needed him, and there was no refusing that call.
What he saw on the front line haunted him. So much was expected of him of course, but I think we overestimated his ability to cope with the ordeal of combat. Folk mistook his stature for a propensity for violence that needed release. We knew different. He was happier in the fields.
I heard dad talking with him while he painted. It was clear my brother knew the value of a champion. The lives saved. The men who got to go back to their farms and families. The gods had gifted him, dad said. But when I see his canvases, that’s where I see the gift. Lasting reminders of the trauma that lesser men can wrought. Reminders of the suffering one man can save us from.
I miss Goliath.
Feb 12, 2025
Feb 12, 2025 at 12:39 PM UTC
A lonesome threshold,
yesterday was light as confetti / from a wedding that
bled in thirty litres of martyred roses / How long are
three hundred steps from a church, to stucco walls
the colour of sorrow?
Soil, the tint of blood,
ichor of mountain Gods, deveined for lost embrace
of roots / Wind whistling away regrets in the dust of
liberated souls / Would it sing for her, embalmed
in the bowels of earth’s sanguine hum?
April heat, weighted with a dirge
of tears salted in ocean / rusting the trumpet
and violin strings / Who will tune the piano for mass,
now that those musical men sailed before her,
in paper boat memoirs?
The Goliath tree rooted in bones,
a giant on such sustenance / gatekeeper of souls
tethered to fleshy sinews in beds of solitude /
Will she be interred in fruit, as he suppers
on her animated putrefaction?
Suffering, twice a child,
once a lady, she didn’t stay long to be swaddled
in linens of pity, cottons of commiserations /
Where will I store the enameled chamber *** for
when I grow up to be her likeness?
Nightshades, funneling viscous memories,
trumpeting in a pastel wilderness, alkaloid racket
waiting to sound in the poisons of prayerful echoes /
When will they bloom, toxic with grief of a swelling past,
so I may sleep as soundly as her?
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 6:18 PM UTC
[JIBRIL ABDULMALIK]
I cannot find any masterpiece
How then do I plan?
There are no shoulders on which to stand
Shoulders of any giant of great stance
How then do I view the remaining journey?
How do I understand?
Tell me, is there still hope for me?
[EDINO ABIGAEL]
You might feel like a pirate
whose masterpiece Is lost between waves and tides,
But, look In the mirror
Who you see Is the master's piece.
This Is the greatest conviction.
Those great giants you look up to,
Are now like Goliath,
Lying helpless down your feet,
Let this be the hope you seek.
[JIBRIL ABDULMALIK]
The path I seek does not seek me in return
The one I love never loved me — I was just taken for fun.
Should I think less of my so called friends or should I say much of them?
They only show up whenever I find a gem
Shouldn't I say less of my very own?
Whom I danced to his great plans — plans for me alone
Great plans for the tomorrow that is never known
Only to find he never had a plan, not even of his own
Tell me, is there still hope for me?
[EDINO ABIGAEL]
You are at a crossroad,
All path seems right.
But, right In you,
Is a Great compass
Leading away from doom.
Trace your steps one, two,
Deep within the bed of your shattered heart,
Sleeps the hope you seek!
JIBRIL ABDULMALIK AND EDINO ABIGAEL ©2019
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 2:41 AM UTC
The village is reaching the end of eternity.
The story has been told, written, read.
Out in the borderlands,
David still
fights Goliath.
The crowd have been around them for thousands of years,
chanting names,
fists in the air,
***** angry faces.
As the chanting of his name increases,
David grows in size,
unfolding like a redwood,
gleaming tanned bark.
The crowd becomes uneasy;
a giant among them? whose children will he eat?
which maidens will he devour?
and so they begin chanting Goliath's name;
David's strenght ebbs, they're feeding Goliath with their tongues now,
as he hulks and looms more and more over the shrinking David
alas, the crowd learn their mistake,
bite their tongues,
twisting them
until they are saying "David" once more.
This fight has been going on for thousands of years.
The crowd continue blindly shouting, 'David' and 'Goliath' being the only words they have uttered for aeons
unrealising they hold the power to release themselves
from this eternal fight.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
Goliath never
Praised his wife,
Never said
He loved her.
He came up short
Of his intent,
She felt more worthy,
Had to vent,
So stole off from
The Philistine camp,
Crossed the sands
Like a vamp,
To join Israelites
Preparing
For the final fight.
A challenge
Came
From the Giant,
To send out one
To die defiant.
David rose
In shepherd's clothes,
Goliath's wife
Lay near.
When David reached
For shield and spear,
She handed him
A bra.
Her over the shoulder
Boulder holder
Had Philistines guffaw.
Her Double D's,
Once there to please,
Brought Goliath
Grovelling
To his knees.
He lopped off
Goliath's head,
Enjoyed the same
Back in bed.
The lesson taught?
It doesn't matter,
Tall or not,
Be sure to
Tell your wife
She's hot!
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC