Welcome, one and all, to a challenge catered to inspire the poet’s heart in each of us. A poem, any length and style, to be written about the chosen theme: Burning the Nail. So, what the heck does that mean? That is where the fun begins.
Thank you everyone that participated in our poetry challenge. The submissions were amazingly diverse and deep, taking our theme in so many different ways. We are in awe of all of you. We thought that perhaps it was time to give everyone a peek behind the curtain and tell you the story behind BURNING THE NAIL. So, what does it actually mean? We have no idea. Sheila’s youngest child came up with it. It was a favorite lyric substitution to many different songs from lullabies to heavy metal.
“I think I heard it sung for a least a week straight, both whispered quietly while playing to singing loudly with the radio in the car. The more I heard it, the more it called to me. What could this really mean? ”
So, now you know the truth. The words of a child; molded and shaped into a series of incredible works of poetry. Isn’t it amazing what such a simple phrase can be transformed into?
Sheila Hall and Robert Zimmermann
Burning The Ancient Nail
by Monty Wheeler
Burning the nail that pierced His hand;
His silent scream across the land
Fell upon not sympathy,
But laughter from a frenzied fray.
The wooden nail blood-soaked and swelled—
Burnt offering of He who dwelled
With mortal man awhile before
We hung the Son of God. What for?
And soft, He said, “Forgive them father. . .”
And more the ridicule would gather.
Oh Lamb of God, I come complete
Burning the nail that pierced your feet,
As Noah burned the animal—
A sacrificial ritual
In my mind. The raging pyre
Takes well the blood of Jesus higher
And too, the smoke well carries prayer
That God shall find his servant here.
And when the servant’s days are through?
Like this smoke, God, lift my soul to you.
Monty Wheeler, author of The Many Shades of Dark, his debut collection of formal verse that comes to the shelves via Winter Goose Publishing in March of 2013, considers himself naught but a little old feller living out his days in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains. With his work in meter and rhyme, he strives to keep the art of formal verse alive.
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