Tuesday, June 15, 2010

one night

by arnold schnabel

illustrated by rhoda penmarq







One night the ceiling opened and I rose up slowly;
Above my house I twisted round, looked down and back








On Nedro Avenue, B Street, and the Heintz factory;
Black smoke billowed from a gaping maw-like stack,












Smoke enveloped me and all was dark;
Like a dead cinder upward I floated and spinned:





I called to God for light, a tiny spark:
He did not answer. The reason? I had sinned.












For fifteen years I stared at the night within my head
And then at last I slept for another fifteen,







Till I awoke firmly bound to a clean white bed.
It’s been several days and now the bed is not so clean,









And neither am I; each night I watch the ceiling yawn,
But I am well-strapped in: I await the dawn.




for more poems of arnold schnabel, click here and scroll down on right

5 comments:

Jason Gusmann said...

LOVED this.

Dan Leo said...

Splendid job, Rhoda.

human being said...

.

the ceiling of my mind
y a w n s

the straps of their minds
keep me
d
o
w
n

.

kathleenmaher said...

astonishing, really.

Old 333 said...

Grooved. Out. schnabel.

He is an echo a little bit of an artist I respect and even love, and certainly resonate with - Louis Wain.