Pioneering A Claim

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The Pigeon Boxes

Pigeons flew

in grey and blue,

they rose in fluttering wing,

they clucked and wept,

they cooed and in a precise

and orderly way

the wind swept

them into the square.

`

There was a set of wooden boxes

on the roof—

of an oversized apartment building

that was the white colour

of a spaceship from Star Wars.

Every day the birds landed

and nestled in their boxes,

covertly denying the

measure of breezes

and hiding their beaks

in their feathers.

`

A small boy opened his window—

and spoke out loud.

If there were two witnesses,

would they distribute the seed

beneath my branches?

`

Would they weep in the night,

a bittersweet song,

would they disappear

with the morning light?

A pigeon, blue-grey,

died with a missing heart

among the wood boxes;

she had been cooing reticent

honours to the murmuring.

`

The pigeon boxes

collected straw.

Millet seed

dispersed over the ground,

and the birds flew in from the sky.

`

Only one was left dead when the girl

returned, softly singing.

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(A poem from my next book, Love in the Time of Plague)

I was offered a contract for my next book of poem from a publisher in the UK. I am looking forward to this next project, as a gift of love to the UK during this time. Though I publish my prose under the name LS and my poetry under EI, my initials used to be SEA and that is how I designed my first Gaudi exhibit in photography online. (My husband went to Spain and brought me home a postcard from a Gaudi exhibit, and olive oil in a bottle like wine from a 17,000 year old gnarled tree.) Within weeks I was calling up the Harrison Art Exhibit and asking what it took to enter.

I wrote this poem for my next book to exemplify the difference between the Holy Spirit and the occult. This occult is, by its name, something that can not be mentioned. If I could not be mentioned or acknowledged—then I would, by nature, be occult. This is also a medical term for something that can not be seen with the human eye. Perhaps this is not as noticeable to the average person, but it seems like in the Jewish Old Testament, you could sacrifice a dove or a pigeon for a newborn baby’s first temple visit. Here, you see that with some children it might not matter which it was, but in the case of Jesus I believe it was a dove sacrificed. I believe this would be a prophetic claim on my part because not many people would stake such a claim. They would be sure they could say one way or the other. I believe because of New Testament symbolism, and the symbol of a dove after the flood of Noah in Genesis, that Jesus would have had discerning parents—who would have used the dove as a symbol. Using a pigeon would have looked occult.

Now usually in life, we are having a good time, eating pizza and watching the game. I think I once sold over 50 pizzas on Super Bowl Sunday at Save-On-Foods—but the same day someone died. It was quite a dark result; the person was still quite young, and no one expected it. We don’t always notice these coincidences. For example, I once drove up to the bank in the middle of the night and was faced with overt Satanism. Someone had left the remains of a ritual sacrifice. Now this seems like a dark topic, but these are dark days. I took the body of the pigeon with its heart cut out and wrapped it in newspaper and placed it in the back of my car. This was so no one would find the body by accident and be distressed.

Now I know that Satanism exists and that it is real. This was no surprise to me, but I took the body so no one else would find it. I disposed of it discreetly after some prayer. It takes courage to believe in divines appointments, but everywhere I go I am faced with that reality. I had to pull up in the dark at exactly that location to open the door and find it right in front of me. One foot more and I would have missed it.

Likewise whenever I go a a coffee shop nowadays. There is usually someone at the next table, and twice now they have been Christians, talking about the Lord and the times we live in. It takes me less and less courage to introduce myself as they are leaving, and give them my card. I hope I will be a light in the darkness to people who are wondering what God is up to in this world. Maybe they will read my website or my blog and have a candle to see by.

I have entered a new contest; it is a new chapter in my life as I write. I am going to begin a new novel, now that I have downed a fair amount of Virginia Woolf, and have a feel for train of thought writing. I am also trying my hand at writing some erotic poetry, although it is mainly using phallic symbols, and symbolism or metaphors in general. When I write a poem, I look for phallic symbols, as if they are something I don’t want to be caught with, and weed them out. I think I have only ever written one phallic poem in my whole life, and that was a rather innocent gesture.

In these two poems I submitted for the Love and Eros contest, I contemplate the idea of women having power without men, how they got to that place, and whether they would rather be in relationships with women, or even have children with them. Here is an example.

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The Mahogany

Her high heels clicked

on the marble floor.

The diamonds in her ring

sparkled like they had been rinsed

with Dove.

This is it:

“You’ve arrived.”

They stared out over

the city. They were both brunettes.

I am glass,

I am a tower,

and the tallest,

rising 26 floors

in the city in the country.

Eyes clear, blink, blink,

a Picasso.

Into the sky it roams;

a girl in a black bonnet

with a stork wielded over

its frame in the moonlight.

Cinderella in the street

raised her head—

a salute.

—Lilith Street

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