This Poem was Submitted By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2012-02-23 01:02:24 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Ash Wednesday Black Face

                                                                     what does that black man                                                                      know about being                                                                      a nigger?                                                                       the sea                                                                      incarnadines,                                                                      babies flinch,                                                                      dogs growl,                                                                      the crowds                                                                       heckle,                                                                      the sighted                                                                      go blind                                                                      if touched                                                                      by my                                                                       shadow:                                                                      that man knows                                                                      what it's like                                                                      to be                                                                       called,                                                                      but my soul                                                                       is ashed;                                                                      the cross                                                                      disappears                                                                      from my                                                                       forehead;                                                                      a branch                                                                      moves,                                                                      and my                                                                       tambourine                                                                      jingles.

Copyright © February 2012 Mark Steven Scheffer

This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2012-03-07 22:34:51
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Is there a ceremony that vindicates us of willful ethnocentricity, the kind that associates guilt by association on the most superficial of differences? Something tyrants use to drive us into confused hostilities for their own benefit? And is their an associated time for self-examination. In the sixites, (the time of tambourines to my mind) we thought so. Our Ash Wednesday. JCH

This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2012-03-07 13:57:57
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
MSS, there are those who would shudder at the comparisons marked in this piece. There is a certain symbiosis of feeling and presumption. I guess, the dog, and the black man and the baby have little choice whereas the immediacy in other situations noted are personal preference; even if without any real moral choice. I appreciated this piece for the candor and what it produced in me. I know that is not a critique, unless empathy is a particular of a critique, but the residence of humanity, that same that was unwillingly preserved, still resides within. This would have been a reflective postscript to the movie –The Passion of Christ- but then, we’re talking about the individual as much as the icon. An intuitive piece.
This Poem was Critiqued By: DeniMari Z. On Date: 2012-03-05 23:56:09
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Interesting piece of poetry although I think the title could be changed in this - without taking away from the poem itself. They all know what it is like - as naturally as the babies, the dogs, the blind, are facts of life- yet I wonder if the tambourine jingles is a note of sympathy or recognition to all pointed out in this poem. Very different - very unique - truly thought provoking - blessings, Deni
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2012-02-24 13:32:36
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
MSS It may jingle. But it's loud and clear. And no-one mistakes you for the village idiot. MAH
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