Issue 10
Spring 2002
Judith Schiele
Poetry found me November 1, 1996. Having no formal training in writing, I simply try to express through poetry the way life speaks to me. I have been published in PW Review, Maelstrom, This Hard Wind, The Writer's Quill, Emotions, Wilmington Blues, Rant, The Rose & Thorn, Somniloquy, Poetic Voices, was chosen as a juried poet at Houston Poetry Fest '99, and published in the anthology.
Unspoken
It is as impossible to write
about the moon, as it is to
write about love, it has all been
said before; every sliver, every slice,
each change and how it hangs or drifts
about the sky. What can I say?
except, once I looked back
and saw it rising
as directly ahead the sun was
sinking; like two lovers,
eyes meeting, but only briefly able
to hold the gaze--took my breath away.
I don't know how
to tell it. The colors
have no name. I could say
the moon was fire-
lit as the sun, that they
quivered in unison and stars appeared
pale as winter. I watched
until I could no longer
and later that same rare moon
woke me.
In the span between deep sleep
and fully awake, an instant became
eternity,
my heart knew things
words could not quite grasp. The unspoken
still somewhere in darkness, my mind,
my soul parallel
as east and west, I went
into the hollow night
naming what I do know.Judith Schiele
Falling Seems Bottomless
Judith of Bethulia was a Hebrew widow
who seduced and beheaded the general
who was to have led the invasion of her people.We have broken
camp, the enemy
closing in.
Even on the eve of battle
I will not seduce you;
I am not Judith of Bethulia--
no heads will roll.
How bound we are,
how divided.
There must be something that severs…
short of dying.There will be no beating
of drums, no commands
shouted, no falling back in line.
Warning shots wereignored, so I will gather
parts of me I know are mine;
there will be no bones strewn
for the vulture to pick.I lean toward life,
there’s an art to letting go.