I haven't let many people read my poetry outside of the classes I take at Wichita State—even though it is my minor, much of the poetry I write is either not worth publishing or of such a personal nature that I don't want to publish it. However, I thought that I should at least give you one of my larger works.
Over the last semester I've had to write all of my poetry in the rhymed, metered form of the sonnet, which I hate intensely. For my final project I had to write a Corona of Sonnets (a crown of sonnets), which is a series of seven sonnets all on the same topic—each sonnet begins with the last line of the one before it. I took some liberties with meter, but not with rhyme or sonnetical form. (I got an A with it, so there!)
A night in the forest of death and life
By Tyler Hiebert
1
The moment must end. Nature cannot live
Like God. Love will be lost on me, time, oh!
If I could feel forever, you, forest give
This life to me. Grant me a sight I know,
Only you can create. I turn, in love at once
With fog which floods this vision, framing fire.
Like a blockade the fog pushes back affronts,
Its ecclesiastical attire
As old as sun, moon and the stars. Freeing
As breath, a moment for eternity.
As if death were dead and dying and king
Of no person. Like God’s own arity.
Life began with love, and from time to time
A forest sprouts out of thin air—oh time!
2
A forest sprouts out of thin air. Oh, time
Do not flee from me like a bolt, like a
Child who sees a gravesite for the first time,
I step deeper into the forest. Where day
Becomes night and night is beautiful. Awe
Like the first time I met God, and knew
It was safe. I touched God there. I there
Dismantled my gods, one by one they blew
Away. I walked deeper still, thinking I
Would find more of God. I found a yellow
Blossom that grew in a patch of blue sky
Like a daffodil. It was dead, and I knew, oh
I knew, that was all I could see of God,
For no single one can run over Him rough shod.
3
For no single one can run over Him rough shod,
The old forest said—moss as eyebrows, trees
As teeth and birds as eyes, like this façade
Were its real face and I was its trainee.
And we laughed like old friends facing dead
And gone sensations that they did not know
Were all that dead—that they did not want dead.
The rain came then, like white sheets of shame. So
I walked farther into the night’s jungle.
The water mixed itself with this sorrow
Of memory. Flooded thoughts. Vandals
To privacy—like bullets they bring woe.
And it was there that I felt fear, not of
My loss of memory, but its sweet love.
4
My loss of memory! But its sweet love
Gave me a moment of bliss. Like the life
In grass, as it is passed by void of
All hope, for something younger, with strong life.
The deeper one goes in the forest the more
Death, life and fear become irrelevant,
Religious experience at its core,
Like a cathedral the forest climbs. Ant
That I am, I drop to the knees that I
Know well. And fighting panic I know by name,
I put my trust in God. Ferns grow awry
There, covering everything in dark green shame.
I saw a small branch growing from a large
Gruesome tree, like it grew from the same urge.
5
Gruesome Tree! Like it grew from the same urge
To sin as my own. Tree, cross of my Lord,
Let me carry your holy weight. Yet purge
The sum of me. Through the high trees roared
A million birds wings, each carried letters
From God saying—“I love you like My
Own Son.” Like old uncles in brown sweaters
Who give hugs with their eyes and don’t ever lie.
All C.S. Lewis like. A wolf black as
Night stares at me. Its head cocked like a
Gun ready to shoot—orange flames for eyes.
Love’s ugly sister incarnate. Three days
Of growth you may have on me. But my Lord
Destroyed you—beast that none can afford.
6
Destroyed you, beast that none can afford.
Yet I still run from you. Like fear is God.
The darkness of the forest with hordes
Of large mist covered armies, this demagogue
Called its own. I came to a stronghold
There, its windows lighted by all daylight.
A moat surrounded its outer wall, old
As heaven’s gates. I fell on my knees—knight
Of a realm that is dead. Still the gates opened.
And I was welcomed in to the warm room
A fire its sole source of light. A chair in
The middle of the room. A small bush broom
Sat before the chair. And there I ate—hidden.
The castle was there, and not there, my gain—
The winds feel like forgiveness, feel like rain
7
The winds feel like forgiveness, feel like rain
On drying lips. Like the dead carcass of
A deer, we are wolfed, still no pain
Just fear, like death. Howls meet our ears, wolves we
Know by name stalk the woods. Framing fear for
More moments than we can count. Art to see
In all nightmares. Our fire whispers old lore,
Dead druid tales, we are beginning to see.
The ghosts are coming out. Outlines are drawn
In the eastern atmosphere. Is this salvation?
The wolves are retreating in to the lawn.
The winds are whistling in abdication.
It’s like a fight for life with out a knife--
a night in the forest of death and life.
I hope you enjoyed it!
No comments:
Post a Comment