Wallace Stevens once said, “the poet is the priest of the invisible.” What have these poems been speaking to you lately? Are these rhythmic writing clergy showing you the deeper meanings of the human experience and the meaning of life? Let me know in the comment section below! Each edition will include two poems, the first being a featured piece written by a famous poet that will be analyzed and interpreted according to my point of view. Of course, everyone’s interpretation is different and valid, and the comment section will be open for any further discussion. The second piece is written by yours truly and will be open to complete interpretation and analysis. Go forth, enjoy, and as you read, remember: “It is not what you look at that matters, it is what you see.” – Henry David Thoreau

Poem One: Gethsemane by Rudyard Kipling

The Garden called Gethsemane
In Picardy it was,
And there the people came to see
The English soldiers pass.
We used to pass—we used to pass
Or halt, as it might be,
And ship our masks in case of gas
Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane,
It held a pretty lass,
But all the time she talked to me
I prayed my cup might pass.
The officer sat on the chair,
The men lay on the grass,
And all the time we halted there
I prayed my cup might pass.

It didn’t pass—it didn’t pass-
It didn’t pass from me.
I drank it when we met the gas
Beyond Gethsemane!

Thoughts: Kipling touches on the struggles of the soldiers in World War I in this extremely symbolic poem. The speaker in the poem in a soldier stationed in Picardy, France. The poem revolves around this soldier reflecting his inevitable death in the field. The clear parallel that Kipling creates is that of the soldier praying in the field about his foreseen death and Jesus Christ praying about his coming death in the garden of Gethsemane. Kipling even makes a direct Bible reference in the line “I prayed my cup might pass.” However, much like Jesus, the soldier was not able to pass his cup and he accepts the fact that he must die for his country as Jesus died for his people.

Poem Two: Slowmotion by D.C.

The 31st of December in the warmth of home.

His arm, tightly wrapped around her as they leaned against

The TV stand behind their emotional fire.

A song slips through his lips and flows into her ear.

She leans in closer, her body finding support on him.

Hands were strolling along the rough terrain.

The countdown to the clean slate had just begun.

10…9…8…7…6…seconds until the fire would ignite.

5…4…3…2…1…the locking of lips was seen by all around.

The pale moon in the night sky looked down with envy.

She grabbed her coat that she barely needed and stepped outside.

The warmth between the two rose up into the midnight sky.

A kiss began a barrage of love on the front porch of winter.

Everything ended in the bitter breeze of Jack Frost.

Time seemed to come to a creeping crawl, everything was moving

In slow motion. They took their time with this venture of passion.

She let her hair down in comfort with him.

All the tributaries sat around the snuggly woven knot of two

In joy for the shared passion and infatuation of two friends,

Two lovers, two lonely souls who found refuge in one another.

And as the wicked wind blows across the fields of Elysium,

Love slowly becomes lost in the Bialowieza Forest.

-D.C.

I hope you enjoyed this edition of A Poem For Your Thoughts! Let us know what you like or dislike about this week’s poetry in the comment section below, and stay tuned for more poems coming your way!