While at Christian tea over the desk
Asked the white collared guru
So what is Holy?
The gentle claptrap of church speak
Orbiting about praise and acknowledgement
So God is a celestqal numb nuts?
OK. Yeah. But what is Holy?
About this parrotted litany
Could you survice Rilke's angel?
Lust for Michealangelo's cosmic erato?
Has the horse tossed you off on the way to Damascus?
Is the knife ready to cut the throat?
Heard the hurricane blast as infinitesimal whisper?
Shouted at the pain Lemi Lemi Sabacthani?
Where is the kick of Zen?
Where the shock of resonance?
As dusk approached - simply - drawing
a BB on white paper
Focus - an early spring bud
So before me this trial
Observed - and mystery - Holy
This prosaic becomes an infinity
And yesterday just a tangerine
Some Chinese ink, a brush, movement
A Shaman danced on rice paper
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Comments about this poem (My Holy by michael oliver )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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