We'd entered the open country
Wrought shelter from the living stone
Passed time where no sound emerged
Save the rustle of our footsteps
The whisper of wind through the brush
You wore that dress then
Never again to be clean
Me in my hat, scuffed boots
No children as yet
Though they did arrive
Once from the well you emerged
A sprig of goldenrod in your hair
A child for each hip
It is there that I keep you
Hidden from truth and worry
Before the third took you
We dreamt of a home
Where peace could be shared
I built in your honor
Though only the whisper remains
A contest entry
- Last Train to Clarkdale by hoodoolover.
600 points, ended February 21, 2007, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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I think I have come to the conclusion my poetry is 'utter shite' (a good northern english/mancunian colloquialism !). I've read so many genius poets over recent months, from Ginsberg to Akhmatova to auden to Gorbanevskaya to Weores to Rimbaud...how can we ever compare ??? My apologies for posting a message in your comment box, but for some reason I cannot send a message directly via the message system, it keeps showing up as an error.
This poem is incredibly sad Rich. And nostalgic. But without hope or expectation, surely apathy follows? And he's the one with the worm in his heart- Mr Apathy, n'est pas? This bleeds, in a very understated way, and the tone suggests fallibility, disappointment. Shrewdly written though, on a metaphysical level. Pardon my rantings, just thinking out loud.It's just good to see you writing after such a lengthy absence :-)
Sonia X -
Lovely and sad write, and I am sure this happened all too soon back in the wild days of this area, thanks for your entry and the lovely story within.
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Haunting
It brings to mind all of lifes drama and sadness. But more importantly, it reminds me that our lives now are not that differant from theirs in the past. Our buildings and bodies crumble, and only a whisper remains.
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I do believe this one is simply perfect and the imagery is so very very strong and crisp.
Such a great poem Rich!
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The first two lines of the second-to-last stanza were my favorite. It felt like you compressed a lifetime's worth of memories into a few words; it's a dazzling, dreamy piece.
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What a wonderful poem, and it tells a great story for the picture. The settlers life, their dreams and visions, you have brought them all out in your poem. Good luck in the contest!
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well, if hoodoo wanted a story for this, you have given her an outstanding one. I love the personal feel of seeing this through an early settler's eyes, inhabiting this place and how tenderly you describe the young wife, mother-- the mention of golden rod and her dress just lends it such a sweetness which so nicely contrasts with the feel of the place they are, open and hewn from stone.
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