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


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


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.