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St Maximilian Kolbe by Bernadette Richards

Bernadette Richards | December 29th, 2017 | poetry | No Comments

Poem

Saint Maximilian Kolbe
Red or white
which is mine?

They hung a crucifix around my neck
I shuffled to the ploughman’s shed
Picked the bluntest sickle
And flowered him for a session of allegoric diction

On the forehead, Jesus suffered me a peck
And slithered from the cross as I declared: ‘Sometimes your mission seems sort of just…heck!’
Saint Max, Saint Max – what if I chose a blue crown instead?
Yet still bore it in white or red
In carbolic acid may we be wed, pure Valentine
or mustard gas

Pray me not beguile my lot
Lingering harrowed sad revolt
Pray me Pray me weak flesh clot
Saint Max Saint Max, gargantuan Spirit dove
Pickle me a speared dove
pickle me a bloody palm, right hand
Could I…ever be offered a red, white or blue crown?

Poet Bio

Bernadette Richards is from Cape Town. She is inspired by diverse forms of art and believes that creativity is one of the best forms of therapy.

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