A little bit of Palm Sunday crept in between the sheets this morning...

All Glory

Once again, we enter Jerusalem
on an ass, waving,
letting our tears fall
like ash when our friends
lay down their weary
palms along our path.

We know it can only last
a little while before the stomach turns.
What we like and what we don’t
come and go, heat and fog.

The ass keeps his pace.
All this will be remembered.
All true love.

Dark hours of hate
will slide past us quickly;
Ahead on our journey,
we will overtake them.

Comments

[Heather Miller]

A taut, resonant poem, Kathryn, how it vibrates and echoes, ending in a strong if quiet triumphant voice. I love the steady pace, a true onomo-sound, the donkey's hooves, etc. And, ah, those tears into ashes, those weary palms. No better Palm Sunday poem than this one. Thank you.

[Kathryn Gessner]

Wow. Thank you!

[Neil Covey]

I have difficulty with the second strophe, Kathryn. It seems to be so summary. The "it" of "We know it can only last" is what exactly? Everything we go through? Third strong third strophe tells us "All this will be remembered." But there is too little "this": "What we like and what we don't." I'd prefer some specifics before the summary, some metonomy maybe, a list, or two or three images, something to latch on to. I also wonder whether "hate" is the right word in the last strophe. It's very strong, and I suspect most of us ride our asses with other limiting emotions. "Doubt"? "Fear"? "Unknowing"?

[Yara Delinquent]

Despair? I agree with Neil on "hate" sticking out here.