Monumental Fool The Dawn of Reason One morning in the garden of reason The monumental fool divorced his God and died. He didn’t know there was food in that root That seemed to tie him like Gulliver Bound by snappable cord. The dry crack of the great divorce still echoes In the unsteady gait of the proud footless one. Tying on philosophies and bravado like Shoeboxes roped onto stumps He stalks through his world, Conqueror King of fools Death’s prey. Sabbath Rest Sabbath Peace I remember when we first met He spoke of wind. Now He is my conveyance Darling soaring Mover of men The sound of peace riffling over the golden wheat Beginning to grow in my soul. What once was barren, thorns a’ poppin’ Bristling with holes deep enough to grasp Hell Like a kid on a swing leaning into a branch Just a reach and you’re there. Smelling the pit and I am the smell. All gone - the atmosphere snaking through Earth As I rise above on wings of God Barely believing it is happening again. May I never lose this wonder. Dear King, you are everything Anyone ever promised me about you and more. Rwanda Song Rwanda Song Who is my neighbor? Melanin will help me identify him. Too much, too little just the right shade May save your life Or you may lose it one day Fools can’t see the abundant hand of the artist Who builds his beloved man in shades to honor every color Twisted by man’s broken soul into excuse to murder his brother. Prisoner These two are Prisoner’s poems. Prisoner Prison without walls But a barred view. If you stand like this And look out there The limit to opportunity is clear. It’s a tradition in my family To count the bars And curse the life others receive So richly and so free. Have Not Have not Have not Have not A song of rage That bars my way Which I refuse To walk around. Better limited Than free Better Broken Than test the dream. Its safe in here Though not much room to stretch Or breathe, or hope, or dream. Search for Significance Search for Significance Momma, you didn’t tell me it would hurt so much. Father you didn’t tell me I would go to Hell. A day care center is stamped with my name. And I burn. I burn. Abbadance My Friend No shudder of pain No ripple of fear Faith that brings peace Please move in, my friend Unload your suitcase of truth. Let’s furnish my house with your beauty. Dear God. Let’s dance. Sonnet 44 The following poem by Elizabeth Barret Browning is handwritten in the book held by the figure in Sonnet 44. Sonnet XLIV Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden, all the summer through, And winter, and it seemed as if they grew In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers. So, in the like name of that love of ours, Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too, And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue, And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine, Here's ivy!--take them, as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine. Elizabeth Barret Browning Counselor The woman's head has the Root of Bitterness attached to it by a nail. A wire connects the demonic personification (root figure) to a file chest upon which the sculpture rests. In these drawers are cross- indexed lists of offenses and offenders amidst broken objects associated with these offenses. Attached to the back of the cabinet is a sculpture of a winged angel floating over a heaven sky-scape. Counselor Counselor's Song I remember everything. Malice is my wings. Consult with me. We'll keep alive Your hurts and other things. I’ll stir your public conscience. It won’t be all ‘bout you. Come let’s file. Make lists with me. I’ll fill you up so deep with death You will never see The promise of forgiveness And Heaven’s God blue skies. We’ll keep that beauty to our backs And live to die again. Winged Forgiveness is a relief or wall hanging. She is also affixed to the back of Counselor. Daphne This sculpture, inspired by the Greek myth of Daphne, is my response to the contemporary story of a Saudi Arabian woman sentenced to life without light or human contact in a soundproof room atop her uncle’s house.In my version Daphne is old and dying. Daphne’s feelings and mind function, but she is locked into a tree form. Both women appealed to their god and family for protection from a despised lover, and both were betrayed and entombed alive. The account of the Saudi Arabian’s imprisonment and death can be found in Jean P. Sassons’ non-fiction book, Princess. To Live in Darkness “till She Die In this black box, I scream and sit And smell myself Not sure I exist except I eat. I hear the tray The food comes through Small glowing ray Blinding partner to the bread, Sole friend with whom I dialog. Sometimes I sit and dream of light And his liquid touch in the night Now night is all I have and am. My boundaries widened to this room. Darkness my name darkness my tomb. They say I’m mad but sane enough To plan attacks against my fate. My head like medieval weapon flung Its weight my leader to charge the gate Which yields its padded splendor Yet holds quite firm, likewise my head Only comfort bitter given. I must not die against unyielding wood or stone But violence done by unyielding heart. Scream I thought I was made for passion. I thought I was made to be free. Once I lived in California Where a man I loved betrayed me. Why didn’t you answer me Allah, when I asked, Should I stay or flee? Your anger must be relentless. I think you set a trap for me. First a fat man’s bed Whom I despised A humble, lying sacrifice. Then into this box I fell Home is only blackness. Home is only Hell. I was ready to come back, My Allah How could you reject This ghost, specter of sorrow Head bloodied by strong floor As unyielding as your heart, As closed as that steel door. I will scream out of tissues unnoticed And they will call me mad. Feed it and prove its existence Fly away in dreams that can’t be. In my stench all alone, mark existence This un-thing dark dwelling called me. All poems, except Sonnet 44 written and copyrighted by Karen Swenholt