Poems 3/11/2005

Here are two more recent poems for your perusal:


What is the shape of our heart?
And what is this surprising shape
that's made when all of our snowy cups
combine - a molecular communion,
rounding red rims into smooth and holy
architecture: glossy in their union;
ecstatic in their shapely spirit?
This is the pattern for outer
crusts; the plan that brick and
stone and wood must follow: the ghost
creating the house it haunts; the spirit
hewing the meeting's mold.
What is the shape of our heart;
and what is the pattern of our joining?

(c) Timothy Gierschick II

Grievous Home

I hold out hope for this
county's soul - no matter
how many shapes are
carved out and capped, the
ageless soil keeps
seething underfoot:
its spirit, penetrating
parasitically the souls of
those who pause to
admire the curvature of
the hills:
the ones who choose to be
here; breathe here; be
drawn closer in kind, and fear
of the soil, until,
content and atrophied, their
slowing pulse beats no
other place as steadily; their
eyes full-turning into an
evening dew.

(c) Timothy Gierschick II

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