"Sunflower" 2010 Digital C-Print Jenny Meehan (available as poster print with different coloured borders), follow link: http://www.photoboxgallery.com/19507
A Poem For My Brother
I wrote poems for my brother,
I wrestled with thoughts which, in the same way that violent men kick heads in,
didn’t know when to stop.
There was nothing that made sense, and now, even less -
in discoveries I make, as I flay through your mind -
Finding routes we travelled on together
exist no longer. Pathways are blocked.
I try to hold you - little boy - I try...
Can I keep you there, in memory? Little brother?
Once, I took you away from the violence in our house,
but I did not know it would come looking for you another time.
Now I see only a distant man, who forgets himself.
But I have not buried you, the brother I once knew,
because I wrestle in the fury, I tear at shreds, and flickers, and search for stars
but there's nothing I can do to make reason stand, resolute
because there is no sense
concerning
the mindless actions of men -
freed from restraint -
Liberated with alcohol - which lessens the pain of life, or so it did that night -
Keep the artist's tools in disrepair and she will be unable to challenge you.
Destroy her heritage and she will find her spirit has nowhere to go.
Take words from lips...make empty-headed entertainment dance for you... while missing the beauty that would liberate your soul.
To John T Freeman - A poem to thank you for what you have taught me.
Altar
Broken Torn apart Fired passion stands here Not empty But holding life breath Living Saying Remember me
(This was used as part of a Good Friday art installation in an Anglican Church, 2008)
Portent
perch portent figuration
a dream occurs
sometimes you must choose jewelled heart to let a part of you die
because you know if it lives
dark drape
the day will come unexpected spirit
emerge write indelible significance
fly - fall -too far
hit
cold - hard - stone
opaque haze.
Time turns it's feathered flesh to bone
and faithless spirit
dies.
(2009 Jenny Meehan)
Sacramental
Waters breaking all around me –
as when you rose – now I, like you:
In your flesh and blood, surround me;
sacred communion: Life brand new.
Though the darkness overwhelmed me –
held me cold in blackest night –
Holy Spirit, you surround me:
Through my being floods your light.
My strength, will, and purpose rising –
pulled by love’s soft gentle face.
In my heart, your image, Jesus:
Revelation of God’s grace.
(Jenny Meehan copyright 2008)
January
to merge – climb – burst forth
written forms vibrate each shoot
trees majestic stand
(Jenny Meehan copyright 2009)
Blossom and Bamboo
curved tips arching low
in stillness dips light-flecked wish
white blossom pleads pink
(Jenny Meehan copyright 2009)
When Trust Breaks
When trust breaks hope falls helpless - see her hand sign out grief bearing words with tinged finger tips
full of red rage - Oh fury!
Heave and ho! weighted breath, wordless, chest bursts outwards speechless, but shouting she searches for metaphors to place in poetry completed -
Yet, all seems to fall flat.
How those pretty pink lips wish they could say what they have done - kiss the air! she presses them tight for now, but not for later.
Rock is not so hard to break.
Watery weaknesses below the earthy crust, shift slitted solids in conflict with the sky blue and sleepy, in the middle of day, still, wide-eyed and open.
Disagreements frighten the starling birds - this girl cannot rest - her peace has flown, blown several
anger puffs - smoke signals controlled, across the surfaces. But we do not believe it.
(2010 Jenny Meehan)
Tiny Bones
I trod on fragments of bone, homosexual, Jew and gypsy. Unknowingly desecrating precious loved ones with my soles.
A heartless, human realisation - I did not know, until the man told me,
when he spoke, my world changed.
Brokenness took a new meaning.
Even the tiniest prejudice is a terrible thing.
I took one of the splinters - pressed it into my skin
The only thing making tears bearable is that I believe they matter.
They may make a difference on some level currently unknown to me.
If I believed in a God without a heart - maybe a God with a heart which was not broken - a God who did not travel with me...
Then my weeping would be pathetic.
My Own House Was Falling
I watched him try to de-ice the car. Behind him, I saw a broken bus shelter. I sought it, for my own house was falling - as quickly as the snow.
He was not looking at me so quietly I slipped past - light upon my numb feet - spirit shifting slightly within my tatty soul.
The safety glass; a shimmering lake - grey concrete shone with flickering highlights - touched with warmest sunlight. Gently...
It is beautiful in it's broken state - I weep - because of the thought of its release; in one angry fistful of fired up rage; someone has made this a place for me.
I have only hot tears.
I stand, unclothed, with diamonds sparkling between my toes.
No single image appears: On my kness, I search with intent, drop my cold face, hard into the glassy earth which presses flesh grievously.
cry - that I may grow wish - for spikes piercing eyes, because I do not want to see crave - for red tears, mingling within white and glinting surfaces want - soft, pink, blossom, to open up inside.
I pray to God; dissolve the glass - and heal me.
Look To The Side
Look to the side
I see your side, Saviour
Your scar meets mine holds its hand bloodied pressed felt together.
Myrrh Bears
“Tie yourself to the Tamarack Tree.”
The myrrh bears whisper.
Soft, as black breezes echo,
disguising mysterious literacy.
Though only yips and yelps now fire
rapid rustlings, through spined and knobbly spurs.
The light toys, wistful, within the dark ended day.
I’m spotted by a sable shadowed mover
at precisely the point he fixes on me,
his moon-like eye defying night.
He wears a shrouded mystery.
“Tie yourself to the Tamarack tree.”
Those echoes of vanillin sweetness;
aroma of a haunting, yet hunted, memory.
The resinous beast wears ebon furred skin,
transfers his weight, on branches of reddish-grey.
Held in his spiny madness he startles
the cavernous nest of trees.
I delve through bitter, scented places
of ululating fear, press my hands through fingered roots,
in mossy thoughts, draw near; within the ceaseless
distant barks, the cuts and bleeds cry clearer.
I lick from gummy sap, a kiss
to which my flesh adheres.
“Dark dynasties, despair, for I defeat you.
Take needled skies, heave heaven’s hopes within.”
The myrrh bears in their frenzied spirit, shake the trees
to hear the heartwood of a mortal being’s song.
Jenny Meehan 2009( Written for one of the rounds of the Literary Mary Competition).
Too Much
Pull that zip, right up too high, and over my head. Pull that cap all the way round and round; with it take my neck. Pull my jeans right down and if they're not close enough to the ground I will pull them a bit further just too much so they will worry you and make you frown.
Three Minutes
I have three minutes to write of pain running through life.
Hide your heads you long necked birds in the sand, throwing up particles with your splayed out toes. Run fast, for your fears of sinking keep you. Let your glassed eyes
pop
from boney-headed-bullet blackness. Beaks open orange, with human shrieks.
Still... Your terror pained expression will freeze in sun so push it deep beneath the thousand grained sea.
See, it shifts below you.
Three minutes over.
Why?
All metal, emotion scribe my frown.
Heaviness you press me down.
Mark me
my words such are of silvered lead.
Ring around my crown hang my heavy head.
From heart, no rising fervour no passion fire or water flow
Only cavern, deep,
dark
and question burning so.
Foolishness
Refusal to see loss Refusal to embrace pain Refusal to see the body on the cross
It used to annoy me; that "Catholic" cross with the body still on it.
For he is risen! He is risen indeed! Keep the wood plain, and your mind totally free! Why think of that horrid time Please forget it, just leave it behind For we are all power and victory now All power and victory
Are we now so independent? So disconnected from the world?
What blessing then, do we have, in our poor state? How do we think we will relate in a Kingdom of God revealed in every part even in the wounded and damaged and bleeding hearts who among us are and ever will be?
There need be no question of allowance, No matter, to try and draw lines around the human soul, No anger, lack of understanding, or question unanswered, If in the brokenness of life, we can embrace the whole.
One day, there will be no more tears.
But for now, we must live in fullness of life.
Bold Type Face
it is wrong to push grief into rhyme
it will be too full for each rounded line
to contain
fallingstill
the motions which swell in deepest pain
familiar words, too much used, which hide the inner tear
