The Prayer Monologues:
These Brass Hands
E.J. Smith
The Prayer Monologues: These Brass Hands
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2010 by E.J. Smith
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Because it is softer than most other metals in general use, brass is often used in situations where it is important that sparks not be struck, as in fittings and tools around explosive gases.”
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brass
Also,
“Brazen self assurance.”
-brass. (2010). In Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary.
***
And the Streets Filled With Oil
***
Boot Camp
Yells pin back my ears to make me listen,
This is war.
We use ropes and tug against one another
The ropes
Burn my armpits and sweat tickles my skin.
He’s right
Always he is right and I must stand in command
‘Cause its right
The obstacle course is our obstacle
A hindrance
In my opinion. Who will win?
The struggle,
Is training to be like-
To act like-
No, I can’t be like them
Take this pain from me!
Their words are not kind.
They are drenched in ignorance
Their bones
Do nothing but battle,
I can’t go in there.
Won’t go
Won’t go
No.
***
In Vain
How much should we bet that there is better on the other side?
I tried it with finding friends and they either let me slide-
Into trouble, debt, or delirium.
Or they’d rather not twine their fingers through mine
For fear of me being too flavored with the Salt of God
I tried it with Drink, the opium of sleep-
The taste was bitter as an unattractive widow
And reports of how it kills you and others was
A turn off.
I tried it with multiple jobs
For multiple pay.
Only to discover, work+hours= No power and less pay.
Then to wear refusal as a cape only to be turned down by
“Social Services”
To gain from the state, one’s belly should be round with child-
Carrying less than 25 pounds or 85 pounds on two feet,
Traipsing next to the thighs
Won’t try to reach the other side of Hell No more.
***
A Blade of Rose
A sharp point, a blade is handed to her
Attached at the head is the velvet color red rose
A bouquet, a sugar scented sweet,
Plucked from the Terrains only
To be brought into her presence.
With the letter: “I am sorry, forgive me?”
A blade, some call it a Thorny Plant
To Bring a Rose full of thorns
Is not the way to swim into a woman’s heart.
She clasps the plant and it pricks and
She bleeds.
So red and pretty and trusting-but Sharp
A Kiss from Judas must have felt that the same.
***
I.
Trips are made by those
Who are plugged into their god
iTunes out their lord.
II.
A love song plays hard
Hope blossoms in my weak heart,
Spring cracking all seeds.
III
The vine aids the bug,
As it strokes terrain soft
A hard shell defined.
***
Worship Tango
Never does He change the dance,
But He will add a step.
I follow with the Tango when
I get into One.
I’ll break out in Cha Cha when cause for celebration.
When its time for Worship, I move
With Him there also. Raising my hands high
With tears building, blurring my vision
Of people, Or I’ll lay face flat
To the Earth and listen for Him
Without Talking so much.
When He moves I move
Sometimes I want to break out in Solo
Buts what’s a partnership
Without my Lord’s hand wrapped in mine?
***
In the House of Pain
Its flat, black and can be controlled
From many feet away.
The clarity puts you face to face with them
But you are not them.
We figure: “We can’t be stars, but we can imitate them”
Nothing wrong with going for your prize,
Yet your eyes widen when you see them jets
Those cars they have in their garages.
Cribs adorned with nonsensical items never to be used
Or replaced, and we are amazed.
We control What we see.
We choose what to hear.
“Remote control, take me to Discovery Channel
So that I may Learn something about the wild
And the medicine”
But my heart is set on Gossip Girls
And what’s going on at Melrose Place
So attracted am I to lyrics about girlfriends
Boyfriends, breakup, and sex-
Beatings, stabbings, and shootings-Oh my
We plug into our homes, eyes glued to the flat screen
And remote control it to
Our sneaky desires. We skip
Christian TV everyday,
Again, nothing wrong with entertainment.
But no complainin’ when you choose to open that gate
Of mockery and debauchery
Then you wonder why you livin’
In the House of Pain.
***
Not many women can say their mother
Found their Prince for them-
What a gift to unwrap.
I was in a dining area with a party of one
Plus a pizza with hardening cheese-
The one who gave birth to me
Calls and says, “He will talk to you
You two have much in common”
The words did not lift me up
The butterflies took a break;
I never felt a flutter.
“I’m interested mom, give me that
Number.”
I talked to my husband to be
For hours. I walked from the living room
With a phone to my ear,
To the bathroom,
With the cell phone attached to my face,
I sat on my bed and we planned our day.
Planning our forever.
Beginning with invites to
Dinner. A dozen roses and chocolate eyes.
***
Interested
A mate can stir the gifts inside you
With a spoon and takes the ladle
To dip into you and taste to see that
God is Good….
***
CSS
Which of these should I choose
To Honor this Life?
Would it be courage to rescue
The widow and the child?
To say something I never meant to say
But say anyway with a smile?
Should I have strength to
Play the Role at church
Of good Usher, good Seat
Warmer, Preacher’s Wife
And know there are knives
Stabbed in my back from those
Who say they love me.
Is it called strength when I stay there?
Or fear?
If I need Serenity, Should I obey?
Being a lapdog and wearing the Style to save
Face for the masses earns me that serenity
No bristled feathers, no attitude.
I’ll do what you say to keep the peace I have.
Life is so short….
***
We Know Why
It thunders after the lightning
Sending rain to the farms’ plains, sending it sprinkling
On my roof, over the garden, down my skin.
And we know why it is light here, while dark there.
On the other side of His world, His globe
Casting sunlight on us and half time on them
We each have a period of darkness
And we know why we have seasons.
Why I Fall in the snow, making angels
With my babe. Then have a chilly
Winter of an argument with my Love
And leave the keys by the door.
By Spring the buds open and I sneeze
Summer makes the leaves full
And Mosquitos suck the life from you
I don’t know why Mustard seeds
Are an equivalent to my Faith.
Don’t know why they complain about not
Having faith to move mountains.
God moves them anyway, since He’s author of
My Faith.
***
The Sinner’s Letter
Accumulated piles of letters crumple to the floor
And I see what they wrote about you and how
You were sitting next to them.
Some of them wrote about Your healing.
Others focused on you raising the dead,
Some even wrote how you stopped the stoning of a
Sinning woman.
I see these letters, ripped out
Scrunched and tossed around in this
Post Apocalyptic House.
Others left journal pieces of how people
Called themselves by your Name
Tarnished it by taking their heart
And warming over to judgments
Hate, conspiracy, and the like.
Love letters left by those who
Left You.
***
It Has to be Love
I chalk it up to loving you why I endure the
Stinging words and gossip.
It has to be love when I walk through
Burning houses and rescue those
Whose refuge was in the dark.
It has to be love why I would sit and pray
With them and lift them up in
Praise and song, and they have me on a hit list.
It has to be love when I choose to close
A Book for the Good Book and meditate on
Your Words.
It has to be love I have for you why
I wait for a mate, anticipating
The Prince you Have sent for me.
It must be love for you, why I go to
A place of Worship with people
So cookie cutter, and yet so different