Descending loose and liberal from Paradise Peak, California,
we are Dionysus and Ariadne, the genitalia of the mind in
Cuban heat.
Two walk-ons, we are cast on your fable-spinning Honda,
its engine roaring like the North wind in
Jack London's mind.
This long red hair blowing silken in the fingers
of the night, will grey. (Dark as a writer's first draft,
night hugs us.)
We pause, rapt in the classroom of the moon's blue spot,
your body attentive as myth. "You can do it!",
cheers Gravity.
She flings a meadowlark, giddy with blue sky and June.
We swoop around hairpin turns, skidding on the sands of time.
We fall in slow motion toward crags where gold hides, cryptic
and unwhispering
among rattlesnakes. Who will pin us to the big screen over Fresno,
in balance and flight, hawk wings touching between soft-hued dusk
and darkness?
(Who will hold back the Man with the horn from scrapping the whole
project whenlarger faces with box-office pull light up?)
Do you hear
a polyphonic melody slumbering in Bach's dead digits, exhumed
to score our exit, right
and left?
. . . . . . . .
I am rusted up, now, you lovely Myth, in this back lot of traffic
and taxes. I am bound by ropes of wild cucumber and silver lace
that twined around our mountain lair.
They knot my memories. Golden poppies nod behind my eyes.My arms
are stuffed with question marks.The smell of our Valley,
scorched with summer,
dotted with metaphor of mountain oak and fiddle head, glides
into the skull as ripe as the field in Wordsworth's pen.You are receptive of life no more, my love,
shepherd of my soul no more.
I
keen
for you as a wolf
in a trap.
. . . . . . . . .
A waterfall thunders from the cliff,
horse and rider
over
the
edge.
(Note the flicker of an antique reel.
The ashes in your bronze cube sift slowly
with uncanny resistance
to a people-less lake in the high
Sierra.)
. . . . . . .
Steinbeck knew your weathered ways, you
gun-spinning, hard-riding player of
bit parts who dies believably.
I tuck you, hero of my thousand days,
snugly within coyote and hawk,
my gate banging in the wind.
Meanwhile, the fluttering ribbon of road
that unwound like 1939 celluloid is on the
cutting room floor,
and I,
small, braced figure
(from a Thomas Hardy plot),
trudge across the darkening moors of
the city,
no sidekick's
floozy.
Author notes
This poem is very close to my heart because of its subject matter, but coming back to it in different moods over the years has resulted in changes, currently in spacing and arrangement, but because a poet is just as apt to kill a poem in editing it as he is to hone it, I surrender to it now. I throw it to the big write in the sky resolving to change it no more.
Written December 4th, 2001
In a list
A contest entry
- dear. we must eat the liver. sweet as june. we must. dear. by jaunty pill.
300 points, ended June 20, 2006, 52 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 19 of 19
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Pretty Good
To change it no more
A wise decision
(Dudley, do not)
The reel at its core
Abhors indecision
(keep what you've got)
The director knows best
The writer may request
The editor may jest
An actor be a pest
But the director knows best
If he is Clint Eastwood!
--Tiki Cat, Director's Consultant
-
BEAUTIFUL
yehaw! man, that was wonderful! haha.. wonderful and beautiful, a rugged and wild beauty your words are natural and raw and really rub an impression into your skin. i am bookmarking this...y'know what? i think i'll print this off too! haha. congrats on penning such a beautiful piece and keep writing! -
i thought this poem was very interesting and very unique. I'm glad to now know that this poem is based on Westen movies because i wasn't sure at first. Very enjoyable. thank you for entering and good luck
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For the purposes of this contest, this poem is about a character in early Western movies...my lover, my husband, my friend...
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It's a good poem, but I'll have to say 'no' as
far as this contest goes. -
Thanks for the read and comment,DP. I changed a few line arrangements but no words. It never did fit into any kind of format, and still resists my efforts to hone it. I give up. It is just a sob from the heart and no more.
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shortlisted - make sure it is completed to your satisfaction
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Thank you for your generous comment on my "work in progress". It does not seem willing to fit into any form at all, but it was a slice of my life that didn't fit into any form either - a treasured part.
-
Expertly rendered.
Sunny Dudley,
I have never seen a poem like this before and must say that I am blown away by it. I love your style, and it is very unique, which seems to add to the piece instead of taking from it. You bring about not only the emotions that are associated with driving but in turn you give a vivid picture of what it would be like to go on a trip with a significant other. The whole picture presented here is fabulous, thank you for entering this piece and for continually working on it. It will prove very interesting as well as be a great honor to be allowed to read this particular piece when you have finally completed it.
Alimae -
It seemed like it was all over the place, jumping from one thing to another, the flow was broken at times and it emphasized the meaning more. Terrific job, I really enjoyed it. The form is very unique, and uniqueness is always good. Thank you for entering and good luck.
~Anastasia -
don't touch it!
Absolutely wonderful poem. The stuff of dreams. -
Thank you, Toad. Watch out! I am going to give you a big hug all the way across cyberspace. Squeeze. Youze iz da best, Kid.
-
This is another one I would think about reposting. This is art. This is wonderful in so many ways I can't count them. I'm going to print this one out and paste it on my wall! Hell, I'm going to paste to my forehead with the type pointed at me so my myopic eyes can soak this in all day long!
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Thanks, Jacob. I am happy as the breeze in Bora Bora. Have a sweet day.
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please save all of your versions
such fine and thick stuff
film chatters
sounds good to me
great -
it got curioser and curioser and it was very interesting loved the many allusions especially the first one but i kinda got lost and blurred in the middle
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Thank you, Fair Wendy. It seems a bit jumpy to me, but then, it is really just a collection of separate meditations on a relationship, and it doesn't seem to want to flow....Thank you for your much appreciated review. Coming from you, that was high praise.
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This poem is one of the best poems I have read in ages... I mean of any poem I have read in ages. (and you call THIS a work in progress?) My oh my, i have much yet to learn. There are so many awesome lines in this, but here are a few of my favorites;
'(Dark as a writer's first draft, night hugs us.) '
'They knot my memories.'
'My arms are stuffed with question marks'
too many... i'd should just re-paste the entire poem :-) Brilliant work, Thank You ! -
I really like what you have added on, great poem so far... keep writing =)
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