2 Poems – The Lowly Place & Prayer



The Lowly Place

I have scraped
the bottom of my barrel
to summon strength
to express
the fear I know best,
that one day
my illness will defeat me,
that I will be forced
to retire my pen
to eternal rest


I think of my muses,
my inspirations,
the best ones
who weathered
their own tribulations


I do as any sick poet would do,
submerged in word, struggling
against the ailing, failing body
to create anew,
I write to survive, to have a reason to
stay and play being alive


Giacomo Leopardi,
nearly toppled over,
arm dangling over
a creaky-coiled bed,
wishing he were dead
to end
the suffering
of being held back,
trapped in every aspect
by what the world saw
on his outside,
his true thoughts
on paper he never dared hide


Frida Kahlo, from her sickbed,
masterpieces, her tired head,
Her arms, strong to hold
the details,
Her heart, her pulsing entrails,
on a canvas overhead;
Beauty in suffering,
grace in despair,
life of torture,
breath of art,
return to air


Jackson Pollock painted his
pain on the floor, his
splatter poetry,
his constant cries of
more, more, more!”
and then,
no more!”
His demons banging
on his locked door,
The lowly place,
the floor,
where all poets,
artists, human beings
find themselves


And Edith Piaf,
the little sparrow,
singing to salvage,
and for salvation,
though her voice
did quake,
though her nerves
did shake,
I hear you in
the background,
my hand trembling,
my own blood
slowing at the sound


This is my sickbed,
my lowly place,
beyond the 10th Circle,
through the 9th Gate,

This is the darkened space
beyond the shadow
of my eclipsed face

Here is where it all lies,
surrounded by the voices
of every lamenting artist,
soothing my own cries

The end of the page is near,
my inkwell nearly dry,
All I have is here,
written visions
for a wandering eye






I was taught the body
is equated to a holy vicinity

I can only hope to attain perfection,
a desperate attempt at mimicry

of the life of the Savior,
and His goodness,

I am not worthy to be called
a genuine reflection

of the Blessed Trinity,
Still I cry to Thee,

O, Lord, deliver me
unto Thy protection

as I suffer through hardships
to greet Your glory, Your resurrection


© Jennifer Patino (2018)

16 thoughts on “2 Poems – The Lowly Place & Prayer

Add yours

      1. Yes … It’ pretty kool
        when that happens.
        I stood in front Jackson
        Pollock’s ‘Blue Poles’ once,
        and it ‘sang’ to me.

        Liked by 1 person

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