Mariane Doktor, servant and writer

A journey in creativity and faith

Category: Pillow Poetry (page 1 of 2)

Falling down

Ocean by Owen Walters

 Photo by Owen Walters

 

Like a queen
I sat on a cloud
when I opened my eyes
and tripped

I looked for my wings
They were gone
I fell down
hit a rock
landed in the ocean

Tears and blood
Dying

Light opened my eyes
Hands with the size of a mountain
pulled me out of the water
Like a baby I lay
in my Father’s arms

He breathed life into me
We sat at the foot of the cross
Doves and rose petals
flew above my head

I tried to find you

I tried to find you
inside the construct of information
I tried to find you
inside structures and lectures
I tried to mold you
to fit my frame of mind
I tried to find you
inside Excel and MS Word

But you are no pdf-file
You are no pattern or scheme

I found you
in my self-destruction
I found you
in the Word that was written
before life came to life
You are beyond any comprehension
You are no reflection but a person
You are three, and one
You are more than a man

I stand before the door
to the sky,
before the door
to the way of truth and life
I ask you
can you forgive me?

Wait

 

I’m the cursor blinking at the end of a half sen

tence, waiting on the writer to finish

So I can begin on a new page

 

I’m captured

Between two bricks

I can’t move, will someone find me and set me free?

 

Two walls clash

Creating a sharp corner

Which sucks me in

I can’t breathe

 

A wind touches my neck,

Whispering

I try to listen

To the silence, which speaks a language, I can’t understand

 

I turn around

The TV is running

The children play catch

 

The silence stands beside me

Observing with me

A mute voice tells me to

Wait

Live

 

I sit down at the dinner table

My children come now

 

How I almost got robbed

A Wednesday of sunshine
The phone rang.

I picked up the phone
A hissing voice
Crept into my ear,
Roaring in the brain.
I switched hands.
The words materialized
Into human sized wraiths
Holding a staff,
drilled and twisted it
in my wound,
Hit the bones,
Searching for the gold of my heart

Bacteria came into the flesh
I could not breathe
All I could see was darkness
I was broken
Trashed
Tossed on the ground
Blood and tears flowing like a river
Drowning the wraiths and bacteria

I dropped the phone
I rose up
I stopped bleeding
Started to breathe
I stomped on the floor
Punched a fist in a pillow,
raised my voice

“Go away.
Take your bacteria
They are not mine”

I felt my breast
The gold was still there

“You can’t steal my gold
you can’t destroy my value
I will heal
I will go to the Truth.”

[God, thou] hast possessed my reins: thou hast covered me in my mother’s womb.

I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.

My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.

Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.

How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them!

If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake, I am still with thee.

Psalms 139:13-18

 

No one can steal the treasure in your heart

How pillows and poetry changed my life

Let me explain why poetry has become a part of my blogging journey.  Before you throw down your head on your pillow, I invite you to travel with me to the year

1999

High school was not what I expected. Quickly, I realized I was different from everyone else. There was no room for me. I was alone, and there was no place where I could be myself, no seat for Mariane.
One day when I wrote notes in a notebook, my eyes stumbled across a peculiar instrument lying in the corner. It was a small brown harp, which was called a lyre. I picked up the lyre, and when it touched my paper, a new language was born – lyric poetry. Inside the words of this language, I found a room for my feelings and thoughts, I found a room for me. The notebook and lyre always had time for me, they listened to me, comforted me, and allowed me to be myself.

When I graduated from high school, it was time for grown-up decisions. Where should I live, what should become of me? My things were put in boxes, along with the notebook and lyre that went into oblivion. I tried to find a place where I could be myself. I lived in Norway, Copenhagen and other towns in Denmark. I had different jobs and I tried to find my calling. Something was missing.

After years of unemployment, I began writing again. I bought new notebooks, but I had no lyre.

Thousands of job applications later, my Unemployment Fund told me I did not do enough. I was not good enough. After I received this message, I could not find a room for me. I was getting lost in my own home! I couldn’t find myself, but my bed was still there. I threw myself on my bed and pounded my fist in a pillow until I sensed something hard. I had beat my pillow so hard that it had got a hole. I was about to drop the pillow when I discovered an instrument inside the pillow, it was my old friend, the lyre.

Thus, this blog will consist of blog posts and Pillow Poetry.

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