They ask me about my tracks
And the color of the dust,
The trails around the trailers
The thickness of my crust.
They wonder if I’ve sinned at all.
I’d lie,
Tell them that I must,
In holy wars, in backyard brawls,
With toothless grin in bars
With tattooed ladies; waiting,
for the next one to come in
And never me, at all. Gentle sleep comes
to push the fear away.
And cowed and pushed or prodded dream
And fouled by too much truth,
That never answered me at all.
And so the question smiled
Hanging on the wall
This pompous fool,
This acrid noon,
or slivered moon.
This failing afternoon
When not a word was said
or read and red
Or even understood.
Author notes
Written August 4th, 2003
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Around and around we go
Hey a Lute Pomer I can still collect poinsters on. I think. We shall see.
Last night me and Hannah sat outside - meteor shower time you know. I saw 3 she saw 2. There was a real Milky Way kinda look up there and I kept wondering what was going to be born inside that place. What was trembling like an almost embryo inside all those gases. But mostly it was nice to just sit out there and Be. Have I mentioned this before? Maybe. I don't know sometimes I think I spin like the Globe and it all just keeps coming back to some beginning and I say "Have I been here before?"
And yes, is any of it understood? Does it need to be? or is it just to understand what it is to Be.
I like the smile on the wall - reminds of the Chesire Cat.
Good one to pull from the racks.
Lisa
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laudable
my, oh my, you're truly amazing! what a great piece you've got here - it's deep, it's intriguing, it's wise. i'll definitely check your other poems, promise. -
I agree with whoever said this should be a song. The words seem like they would go nice in a song. It was a very nicely written piece. Good work!
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good job! comments appreciated
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excellent
wow this was good i enjoyed it
excellent job -
You have this power to leave the reader intrigued, its amazing. I love this poem, and your others are great
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Dearest Lute
It is important to know who you are - and you certainly do.
Your poetry forces me to ask questions and to search for answers - a very good sign. Please be patient, Poet! LOL
Warmest Regards,
Myra -
Effortless.
Completely effortless.
Lisa x -
don\'t touch it!!
very nice. in fact, exceptionally good. the one line with tattooed ladies waiting for the next one to come in broke the rhythm for me the first time, but i believe it was just due to the way i was reading it.
This pompous fool,
This acrid noon,
or slivered moon.
This failing afternoon
When not a word was said
or read and red
Or even understood.
i liked this stanza very much. it reminded me of the two women daisy and jordan from The Great Gatsby who would sit motionless on a couch together during the very hot afternoons of summer.
the whole poem provoked in me the feeling of many of my own lazy summer days sitting contemplating on my back porch.
i really did like this alot. -
I read this earlier, but reserved my comment for a second viewing, when the picture would be that much more solid in my mind.
The trails around the trailers
The thickness of my crust.
And so the question smiled
Hanging on the wall
When not a word was said
or read and red
such depth of thought this drew me to. Life, survival, other's lives...mobile homes...rolled dusty dollar bills...and questions in a darkening afternoon...
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This should be a song... its very real and has great audience "appeal"
I'm running out of compliments and words to describe your poetry... so i'll just say... another incredible write :-)
~ Wendy -
When they ask me about my tracks, the colour of dust, my sins...I answer...I haven't been in the mud of late...and there is always too much dust anyway...and of course I have no sins...why should I leave my tracks...or know the colour of dust...besides I am pure...and quite confused so I think I will stop and think that I was drifting in a dream that I don't understand.
Wonderful work.
Thank you, Maria
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