This Poem was Submitted By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2011-11-13 14:14:40 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Prayer to the Beloved Enemy

My life has no center. It is diffuse as squalls circling above empty forests. Self dissolves, discovering no answers to imprecise queries, formed constantly in Your unbearable absence. The gaudy necklace of galaxies has no clasp; my weary questions have no answers. My mind picks apart all resolutions to meaningless voids. And yet, dear God, I constantly seek Your face. You are the breath flowing in and out of me, incessantly, involuntarily. You are the turbulent, relentless fire which pulsates inside me, in spite of the tempests of will which engulf me daily. O Creator, grant me faith, swallow me in Your being; enfold and enclose me, overcoming my vain disbelief.

Copyright © November 2011 Joanne M Uppendahl

This Poem was Critiqued By: DeniMari Z. On Date: 2011-12-01 23:34:22
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Joanne, Very nice to see you post here again and with such an inspiring poem full of spirituality. It's absolutely breathtaking to read the passion you have instilled in this flawlessly flowing honor to the one most high above; engaging the reader to find their humbled heart and realize that without the Holy Spirit in life we are lost sheep floundering without a joyful purpose. Just lovely, blessings, Deni

This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2011-11-26 14:18:18
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.66667
Joanne, This is quite lovely and doubly true. It is a prayer of humility and lifts spirits up to see........... You say it how you experience it. The spirit is everything that matters. There is no comparable. You did a Great job here. You took me there in words. What is better than that? Dellena
This Poem was Critiqued By: cheyenne smyth On Date: 2011-11-19 15:15:04
Critiquer Rating During Critique: Unknown
Hi Joanne, I have read this poem several times and each time I find something else to like. At first I thought it to be a sonnet until I did a syllable count. A prayerful plea to believe when we feel ourself flounder with the magnitude of it all. You have used poetic devices like enjambent and alliteration to their highest appeal. You are the turbulent, relentless fire which pulsates inside me, in spite of the tempests of will which engulf me daily There is a flavor in the lines above that makes me wonder if the protagonist has suffered a catastrophe of some kind or perhaps just the "slings and arrows" of life. In any case this is an accomplished poem that I find evocative and powerful. Well done. Best wishes, cheyenne
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2011-11-13 20:07:18
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Joanne, there once was a priestess named Mcbeal. She has gone on to another dimension but millions still sit and watch the nebulous answers she sought. There is the nature. That moment when the divine is an ambiguous algorithm, whose reference is as obscure as the solution. The resolution for a practicing ambig-u-ite is a mix of frustration, hope and the afore mentioned resolve. “Self dissolves” is such a cogent metaphor to the reaching for that ambiguous answer within creation. The air, one can breath it, but cannot grasp it. One can know to be a part of the whole, but never really know where the puzzle piece fits. The mosaic is so “imprecise” although the “queries” remain conspicuous. The heavens, (odd that we call them the heavens, or not) reach far beyond everything but the soul; that is the aware soul, that is transfixed. I have always believed, given your loosely cloaked sensual observation; that the compulsion, within creation, truly is more than a coercion, rather being the whole of me (“engulf me daily”) trying to return to where my spirit has departed, seeking to end the autonomy granted by the very deity that might cull the spirit in the end. I think one must believe that that freedom will always be the product of that compulsion. At any rate, at least reading this for me- as I have told MSS, of me, in many ways, many times – reverencing the creation is not the same as not worshipping the creator. Or maybe, “vain disbelief” is more of a personal inchoate impersonation than the redwood that hasn’t a clue who its benefactor really is. (Or at least I think not).
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