Who Shot Jesus?

This excerpted from local TV news:

There's outrage and sadness in one local community after an act of vandalism on a sacred symbol -- a Jesus statue that was shot.

They're asking, "Who shot Jesus?"

“My grandchild ran in and said, ’Someone shot Jesus in the head,' ” Pastor Bobby Adkins said.

Someone drove by the Lundale Freewill Baptist Church in Logan County and shot the church's Jesus statue nearly between the eyes."



Not much to do in the hollers (yes, hollers) of West Virginia, I guess. Me, well, I'm doing something much more productive. I've been attempting Grace's challenge at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads to write a Tanaga,

Here it is:

A tanaga is a short poem of four lines, each line seven syllables with a single rhyme. Today, other rhyme schemes are used, including freestyle rhyme, but for the purpose of this exercise, let's try to stick with couplets.

So, here's our form:

XXXXXXA
XXXXXXA
XXXXXXB
XXXXXXB

The tanaga is traditionally presented without a title, has an extreme reliance on metaphor, should be emotionally charged and ask a question that begs an answer.
You can see other tanagas here: http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2012/01/tuloy-po-kayo.html



Here's mine, inspired by Who Shot Jesus?

tanaga:


Who shot plastic Jesus' head?
Don't they know that plastic's dead?
If that's true, then why the start
Of extra bloodflow from his heart?

My Name is West Virginia

When I asked my three-years old grandson if he knew my name, he answered without hesitation: “West Virginia.”

“No,” I said. “Grammy’s name is Karen.”

“West Virginia,” he said with a smile. “You are West Virginia.”

I am dirt road hollers

and creeks without bridges,

glowing piles of coal

and coal black, lumbering bears.

I am Black-eyed Susans

and sticky, silky Milkweed,

swelling and bursting

in Autumn scented air.

I am whispered family secrets,

kisses beneath windows,

blanket-covered porch swings

and promises made there.

I am born of revolutions

and wars against my brothers;

I am apple faced women

and men who try and dare.

I am pinto bean weekdays

with iron skillet cornbread;

I am fried chicken Sundays

and sweet'ning if you choose.

I am Onward, Christian Soldiers,

on prayer meeting Wednesdays,

embossed zippered Bibles

and patent leather shoes.

I am Mother Jones marches,

the passing of the torches,

and American dreams

that somehow do come true.

I’m the boys from the coal mines

and the girls who learned to write lines.

I am West Virginia -

a majestic mountain Muse.