Two Poems by George Korolog

30 May 1431

 

Burn her. Tear out her tongue. Shadowy hooded magicians cough rites. Spittle of caste and chief. Brushwood sage. Screams pronounce the roasted aires. Toes churning in excrement. Sweat dripping from clouds. Recite mysteries. Beg forgiveness. Scratch signs with charred and crooked sticks. Grimace. Teeth crack. Hearts roar. Hands blaze. Souls rage. Eyes melt. Cremation ends. The gift Godsends is ashen shrine.

 

Nights In D Major

 

Curiously, I find myself standing

beneath the effigy

of your great draped mourning,

an atheist, invited,

quite by accident,

to the final Sunday service,

without a dime to contribute

or the daring to look up

and make eye contact.

The choir of winds pronounces

mass in the space between your

arching branches, waving leisurely

at the stars, alight with joy,

as if to say, alleluia.

I stand beneath you in my bare feet,

a tattered bathrobe covering my many

naked sins and transgressions,

and it in this sermon

that I understand

nothing can be adequately described

or explained.

One has to come out from the dream

and stand alone under

the birch tree at 3:00 in the morning,

half naked and slightly crazy

to merely get a passing glimpse.

 

George Korolog

 

George Korolog is a Senior Vice President at a Fortune 500 technology company in San Jose, California.  He is engaged with the Writers Workshop at Stanford University and has only recently begun submitting his work, one of which was published last month in “The Earth Comes First.”  He has been an avid climber and mountaineer and also has a Masters Degree in Psychology.  He lives with his wife and two sons in Woodside, California.

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