Asp
by Tammy Vitale
Slither green scales
hard across smooth
stone – soft under-
belly hidden in dark
recesses. Hiss only
when necessary – no
warning enough
to save foolish tres-
passers from themselves,
their caressing hands
tender as cooked apples.
Come, wrongly despised
messenger of Fate; curl
between my fingers;
place your spirit, cold
as raw gold, in the palm
of this Goddess
who loves you.
(Untitled from the series “Tree of Life”)
by Lucille Clifton
How are thou fallen from Heaven,
O Lucifer, son of the morning? Isaiah 14:12
oh where have you fallen to
son of the morning
beautiful lucifer
bringer of light
it is all shadow
in heaven without you
the cherubim sing
kaddish
and even the
solitary brother
has risen from his seat
of stones he is holding
they say a wooden stick
and pointing toward
a garden
light breaks
where no light was before
where no eye is prepared
to see
and animals rise up to walk
oh lucifer
what have you done
I have shared Lucille’s poetry before on Poetry Saturday. I am reading about her life now, and rereading her work, so it is only natural I will share her some more. One can’t get too much Lucille Clifton!
I don’t write out of what I know; I write out of what I wonder. I think most artists create art in order to explore, not to give the answers. Poetry and art are not about answers to me; they are about questions. Lucille Clifton
