PAD Challenge #28 For Poetic Asides
For today’s prompt, write a “what really happened” poem.
Who Am I To Know?
It’s a bit like trying to explain,
to depict a few pages of fantasy
fiction. Yet, even after all these
years, it is clear, more real than
any other thing that has ever
actually happened.
to depict a few pages of fantasy
fiction. Yet, even after all these
years, it is clear, more real than
any other thing that has ever
actually happened.
Two total strangers, alone in
silent corridor, pass one another,
moving in opposite directions.
One is short and middle-aged,
while other is twenty years younger,
straight, strong, so much taller. In
that moment of passing, invisible
hand reaches out to grasp much
older stranger, envelopes her in
howling wind, where nothing exists,
only sand, hurled by wind into complete
aloneness. Doubled over, in total horror,
she peers back over shoulder, sees only
receding stranger in eminent danger,
wonders about a soul so torn, so worn
by abuse that it would reach out to grasp
anyone passing. Scream of its need
for solace, grace, a home, shelter from
howling wind of aloneness, and whatever
monstrosity might have shaped it? Then,
bending head, tearfully whispers, against
own wishes, “God, if there is one small
thing I can do, then show me.”
silent corridor, pass one another,
moving in opposite directions.
One is short and middle-aged,
while other is twenty years younger,
straight, strong, so much taller. In
that moment of passing, invisible
hand reaches out to grasp much
older stranger, envelopes her in
howling wind, where nothing exists,
only sand, hurled by wind into complete
aloneness. Doubled over, in total horror,
she peers back over shoulder, sees only
receding stranger in eminent danger,
wonders about a soul so torn, so worn
by abuse that it would reach out to grasp
anyone passing. Scream of its need
for solace, grace, a home, shelter from
howling wind of aloneness, and whatever
monstrosity might have shaped it? Then,
bending head, tearfully whispers, against
own wishes, “God, if there is one small
thing I can do, then show me.”
And God did, what only God can do. Both
of us live, giving whatever we can. Who
am I, to ever know, what actually happened,
so long ago?
of us live, giving whatever we can. Who
am I, to ever know, what actually happened,
so long ago?
Elizabeth Crawford 11/28/10
Soul's Music 
Elizabeth, this is the very stuff that angels are made of. Common to think they are somewhere, someone else. Rather I think we see them every day, and mostly, mostly, never know. As your poem here lays well the tale of so brief a moment. And even angels seldom know. Our actions, our thoughts do make difference. Beautifully stated poem here. As real as anything is.
Thank you Neil. Just finished a little book, Sundays at Tiffany’s. in which a young girl has an imaginary friend who leaves when she is nine. She never forgets what he gave her. Then she meets him as a grown adult. Asks him if he is an angel, and he shrugs his shoulders, saying he doesn’t know. Is just doing what he does. I loved the story. Am I an imaginary friend, an angel, or just one human being as human as I know how to be?
Your response delights me no end. Same question. Are you, my friend, imaginary because we have never met on a physical plane? Are you an angel with your quiet and enthusiastic sharing? Or, most likely like me, just being the best human being you know how to be? Think about that for a moment. That would make us a trinity of being. A friend, imaginary or otherwise, an angel offering help, guidance, support, and a human being living in a finite world with only a finite time and place to exist in. If we truly are made in the image and likeness of God, that may be closer to the truth than any other.
Thanks Neil, you always make me smile and think,
Elizabeth
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I think you speak of “soul”? Though the word is not stated, it seems the write speaks of “soul”? As I told you I am looking for “soul.”
I have completed some tasks, and tried to find some order here in the studio. And now I return again to words….and images….
Yes, Annell, I am speaking of a soul moment in this poem. I can see, feel, and write the details, but what actually happened? I believe her soul reached out to me and somehow I was able to feel, see, and even hear it. When I say in another poem that we share a soul, this was the very moment of beginning to that experience. Although I believe what I believe, I’m also aware that there could be, and possibly are, hundreds of other ways to interpret it. But, I can only go with where my own experience has and will continue to take me.
Good luck in your search, and again, so glad to see you back,
Elizabeth
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Elizabeth,
A poignant piece. Guardian angels, soul-mates, kindred spirits. Those of us who have had the fortune of meeting them. Some remain, while others are gone. I simply love this.
Pamela
Pamela, I’m glad that you do. Have tried for years to put this bit of story into a poem, but each time I did so, it just wouldn’t work, and I worried if anyone would understand the concepts underlying it. Yet, today, when I saw the prompt, I knew this was the only thing I could attempt to write about. I’m glad I did. Guess it was time. Maybe it works because I am surrounded by others, like yourself, who believe and find the magic in being human. Thank you for that,
Elizabeth
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Interesting that you wrote a poem not really knowing what happened, and I wrote a poem with the same flavor. Sometimes that is the truth. We try to understand sometimes, but we cannot. We can only accept and embrace what God has done as being good!
Mary, yes there will always be questions that go unanswered. And I, for one, don’t always agree with God, and argue. Foolish me, but I sometimes feel that God enjoys my little snits and showing me where I went wrong. It’s definitely an interactive relationship. And I’m glad for that. Thanks for your words and thoughts,
Elizabeth
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Elizabeth, you are flying at the moment, writing inspired and inspiring poetry.
ViV
Thank you so much Viv. The PAD has been inspiring in so many ways and on so many levels. Am going to take your comments and put them in my kudo box for sure. Now, it’s a matter of doing that manuscript thing, and I can reach into that box and remember that it’s all worth it, yes?
Elizabeth
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