You want to write a poem about angels.
Not because they are winged and white and haloed
And in many paintings very beautiful
But because you have seen many things and remembered
Only angels …
from a poem about angels, by Jacqueline Osherow
Trying to stay positive
in world like this
can be hard
even for angels
that is why so many
have gone into hiding.
Beautiful colors
soft green fading into yellow and orange
I see her standing there
and I know nothing about her
but there is something there
something so alluring and so mysterious
that I’m convinced I’ve got to speak with her
at any cost
yet as I near her
she fades away
not quickly but ever so slowly
so that I’m sure
she was an angel.
Angels
winged creatures
birthed out of human imagination
solely for religious observance
they are a cultural conception
symbolic and mythical
so you thought
until today
when you saw her
floating outside your window
open up
pull her in
save her.
Out there in the grassy meadow
in the big tree that lights up every morning
when the sun shines through
when each wavering branch
is a silver silhouette against the dawning day
that’s where you’ll find her
right there in the lower branches;
after the storm
like so many others
her wings were broken
so she sits there day after day
and yet you’ve never seen her
because you were never looking;
silver and sparkles
how brilliantly she shines
a coy angel
who says not a word
yet gazes down at you fondly
every time you pass by.
Former angel stabbed,
second-hand reports say
it was the left arm
but there is no official report
of the incident
nor will they be
as angels
have fallen out of favor.
In a place where hot molten metal
is poured into a mold
and sparks fly madly
and the smell of sulfur
is powerful and overwhelming
she hides
right there in the corner
in that small cool blue space within a space
where she is immune to everything;
she hides because she’s lost her feathers
every last one of them has been taken
by the red eyed one
who even now searches for her;
she drapes a silk green cloth around her
and it blends with her green tattooed skin
intricate, geometrical organic forms
reflect her nature;
she will need long feathers
to string together a makeshift wing
if she is to rise again
if she is to get back into the battle
you must believe in her
because this battle
is for you.
A law banning winged creatures
larger than a bird
violates an angel’s right to be
so a judge ruled last Thursday
but Society for a Safer World (SSW)
plans an appeal saying
angels are a bad influence on children
who might try to duplicate their feats of flying
and hurt themselves.
Sh, be quiet,
look over there
another coy little angel
she has shrunken down
into the crooks and crannies;
she’s down there with the mites
and you’d need an electron microscope
just to see her, but even then
if your heart were too small
she’d elude you just the same;
she holds the thin red line
the one that can take her back
but only if she can hold on
long enough –
only if she can will herself
not to let go;
she is sad, so sad
because once she had wings
massive and gorgeous
but they’ve been transformed
into branches
that fan out from her
and get tangled with her hair
how it hurts
in more ways than one
her lower half is slowly
turning to stone
but she holds on
not for herself
but for me
and you.
The police laid a total of 128 charges
against three angels
that were rounded up last night
having found them singing in a grove;
it was a pre-dawn strike
the angels quickly huddling together
and surrendering in fear,
among the charges were
flying without a license
public gathering without prior approval
and public indecency –
the angels being but scantily clad;
the angels are being held without bail
until a hearing can be set.
In that shadow over there
yet another angel hides
she’s huddled up
a broken marionette
knees to chest
one wing a make shift thing
the other a broken pole
she’s covered almost entirely
in masking tattoos
that ancient, intricate pattern again
geometric and organic
soft and delicate;
a shawl is thrown over her cold naked body;
she is the saddest angel of them all,
her face is dark and covered in smears
tear blurred;
her eyes are so long
and so dark
and so sad
that they drip with a melancholia
so intense they evoke an attractive force
strong enough
to draw into it
anything that nears them;
what will it take to fix her?
by matt at shadow of iris
Photo by ~touchingandkissing at deviantart | cc license 3.0
Quote:
“The last thing the world needs is another poem about angels, but I can’t help it.” – unknown
I hope you enjoyed this poem about angels.
