poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

Blog Archive

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Dragonfly my battered heart back-and-forth(ing) the room

Dragonfly my battered heart back-and-forth(ing) the room
Batter my heart, three-personed God; for You

and the poet doesn’t notice. He’s too busy ruining John Donne’s Holy Sonnet 14
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Oh Poet, forget your talk about the soul and God

You force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I can’t watch. It’s too sad.

God is flying into the windows, head-first, trying to get a glace
and you are too busy with the page. Can’t you see?
The dragonfly is God.

This is all about you, not John Donne.
Donne would have seen the dragonfly
caught him, held him to the flame
and crunched the crispy body,
then wiped the wings from the sides of his mouth.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

There was a photographer behind us,

it's you and me, see, in that famous photograph
we were children, holding hands, in black and white

our square backpacks held us up
to look at that broken German city

and pick a street
and walk.