Best Pieta Poems
Then, he knew why he must hew
old memories from marble-
emotions quarried from heart's slew-
Oblique fight with his faith's garble
Cut block unfolds Christ, enthroned
on mother's lap- death sleep supine...
Sculptor's concepts cast in stone,
art wrestles with thoughts divine.
And sorrow, stilled in her young face,
speaks truth of words kept in her heart-
mother, son, distilled in saving grace,
sacred words saved in graven art.
A pity, the piety
so few true onlookers saw...
Revealed in society-
few look on In devoted awe.
II
Now she knows why she must express
emotions whittled away, and smoothed
from quarried heart's deep distress-
The process leaves her soothed...
Such feelings are not cast in stone-
Warmly carved in reflective marble, maybe,
as he wrestled with tempestuous thoughts
burning, guiding hands that draped
unmoving drapes over motionless shapes,
shaping faith that cannot be bought.
And the tenderness on her gentle face
belies the hurt of curse's sword driven
straight through her mother heart...all trace
of ancient prophecy hidden.
Till truth, preserved, be told.
Had he not told them many times
he would return, come back to life?
And that word was kept, unfailing.
And the stone was moved, revealing...
Posted: 22nd April 2019.
Note: I am totally in awe of the stupendous sculptures produced over the centuries.
Miraculous as they are, I believe in greater miracles, the resurrection of Christ being just that.
I am also a mother of two grown up sons.
My little miracles...<3 <3
Luke 2:25-35. Luke 24:1-8
Gathered, to mourn in one deathless hour
Fragile, a test to faith's consummate power
Grief, which is stone cast, among five stricken faces
Softened by reverence, and mute, anguished traces
Weightless in her arms, but heavy for the eyes
Devotion anchors deep, painting tears that will not dry
Each pulse that pounds, each gasp one takes,
will rise, then, with awe, as the brush strokes create......
Lost, the desperate world, which honed new beginnings
Shattered, by the cost, as their world had stop spinning
The few souls, who cradle, unable to speak
would renew from a tomb, He would defy and retreat
For those who altered history, Sofonisba paints with eye and ear
Will they stutter, will they falter, or still deny that He appeared?
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Submitted for Cyndi's Contest: A Painting....Sofonisba Anguissola, Pieta
Sitting on the floor with a bundle
in her hands, cannot let go.
Experienced before in a cradle
but then with joy and glow
With an aching heart she holds
on to him, praying an eye will
open for one last look, she prays,
in her heart it will be a thrill
The sorrow felt in her heart
cannot so easily be calmed.
Gazing at His face so sweet
But now sleeping and cold
With caution she mourns, there will be gain
of the promise that they will meet again
Painting’s title: PIETA
The sorrow felt by the Virgin Mary at the death of her son Jesus
They took Him down from the cross,
Joseph,both Mary's,mourned their loss,
From any angle,it was 'finished'-
In dead marble,the moment preserved,
Yet by living power,in Him, we're cured.
Inspired by Raul's photos of the Deposition
Mother hold me between
light and darkness
against your thundering
heart,
my ear above the deep well
of your breast,
Will you sigh with
me and will you cry
for me
spread the sky for me
to cover me
over.
Take away the sins
of the world,
Erase the cancer of
experience.
Roll the hard stones and
broken glass
of it all in tumbling
swells, until
it becomes sand again
I will disappear (thank you)
will be unraveled by your tears (blessing)
my ashes
under the stars
dissolved by your love.