Tag Archives: christ

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NaPoWriMo Poem #20: To Thomas

Another mouth
etched into a man’s
side will speak
for him when
his first mouth cannot, closed and
locked by his spirit’s

exit. He
returned to tell his
tale of how
He slipped through
Death’s fingers: listen through your
fingertips, touching

to feel the
words of the tale, the
cadence of
his living
breath, His opened wound smiling
at your disbelief.

Written 4/27/11
© 2011 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
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Another poem using the shadorma form for the stanzas, also focusing on Easter. Enjoy.

-Nicole

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NaPoWriMo Poem #19: Holes

Nails bite and
sting, leaving holes where
flesh should be;
life leaks out
in pints of blood. Holes in his
wrists speak of exit

wounds and a
life lost to love. But
this vessel
is filled and
a once dead man walks. Through these
holes, nothing leaks out.

Written 4/27/11
© 2011 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
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This is the first of a few shadormas that I am writing, as I’ve been intrigued by the form and have been wanting to try it out. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to contain myself to one complete shadorma, so I am using the form to construct my stanzas in these short poems. Enjoy.

-Nicole

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NaPoWriMo Poem #18: Gardens

I.

A pair of urns, thrown against the belly bark skin of a tree
and busted. The fruit hanging above, pointing down
in double-edged swords, falls like icicles around the collection of shards
lying at the base of the tree. When you eat this fruit,
you walk away with a belly full of knives that
jostle as you walk, points reaching forth and bearing edges
that split open your gut to reveal you
as a naked, muscled skeleton underneath. Who told you
that you were naked?
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NaPoWriMo Poem #16: Roses and Thorns

To make a crown of thorns,
you must first tear the roses away.
The King is crowned with their stiff, green bodies
withering to brittle, bone, and dust after they
have been seized and stolen from the ground.
Before returning to dust, they stiffened into rigor mortis,
frozen in a circle as they entwine with each other,
thorns jutting out and radiating from an empty center.
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NaPoWriMo Poem #15: Walking

Nails pin thin, battered feet
to fractured wood. Affixed to earth,
neither He nor the wood can rise up
and walk. He is a nailed up, gasping, bleeding sentinel
watching the sun’s single eye burn:
but Death walks around Him, trailing a mantle of clouds
behind her that will occlude the sun and shut its eyes
to sleep.
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