This aubade begins at twilight
at the assemblage of new dirt
the parishioners' keen of relieved mourning
fading toward the church
Lisa in bare feet up from the company town
black soot on her cheek,
me fresh out of prayers
leaning on my shovel
covered in red clay and bits of coal.
Lisa says,
“What shall she do now?”
...go up to the city
cover the dead found by the garbage bin
with old rags and newspapers
howl with her sad smile at the crowds,
sell stale flowers, wait for Jesus,
copulate
urinate, shit,
beg for applause when the lights
come on at the Athenaeum,
perform the miracle of tears into blood
for the congregation gathering for the Rapture...
“might rain,” Lisa says, curling her toes
at the edge of the dirt.
“might,” I say, eyeing the curves of her summer dress.
Author notes
Image: John Singer Sargent: Madame X
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 38 of 38
-
A very poiniant piece of poetry you have etched here.
The conversation the imagery your words paint
taking us to the dirt of city streets, put bluntly.. expressed.
A pleasure to read
Julie
-
excellent - the imagery, the dialog, the mood...... all work wonderfully.
speaks so well i read it several times over.
-
Well clearly when someone says "the imagery here is the some of the very best I have had the pleasure to indulge withing"
they could never award it a trophy. what were you thinking .. duh.
-
I cannot deny the uniqueness of this piece and how it had captured me in the very first line. The imagery here is some of the very best I have had the pleasure to indulge within. I fully admit I became lost among your words. Thank you for entering. Best of luck to you!
Blessings
Bel
-
I really enjoyed this piece very much. You made the picture come alive and gave it life. Great job.
Soulful Woman
-
Beautifully done...moving and so realistic...Great pic to accompany it.....
"Lisa in bare feet up from the company town
black soot on her cheek,
me fresh out of prayers
leaning on my shovel
covered in red clay and bits of coal."
Awesome!
Lynda
-
Although this is very free verse and I prefer poetry with a rhyme scheme... I cannot deny that this was an excellent poem. It is very classy and original. Wonderful job.
-
Wow... I really like it... I didn't consider it sexy, but okay.... I do agree with ardentMarch. You have a definite voice to all your poetry. Keep that. It's a very good thing to have...
Well. Guess what? You are the first. I have NOTHING to add to this. You did a great job. I've not done this to anyone hardly (especially recently) but you get three clappies. I loved it all.
OUSTANDING!!!
~Asa of the Hard-To-Impress Poets of Discernment
-
This is quite sexy, (the ending..lol)
And as you know, Sargent is one of my favorites, too..great poem, you have such a different, distinctive voice, I have noticed, in all your poetry. Especially that long one a while back...about keep reading, turning the page (sensual)..lol..I forget the title.
-
This was interesting to read, makes you think of how society is.
-
This is a great write.
It gave off some great images.
I'm not so keen on the "shit" right in the middle.
I think defecate fits better with urinate and copulate.
But thats just my thoughts.
Still an excellent poem.
-
Imagery was stunning. Great job
-
Great imagery, and gets you thinking...
-
I was really caught up in the story, it is not average, it stands out. I really like your style. The imagery here is particularly good.
-
The imagery in this piece was wonderful, makes you feel exactly the effect that a beautifully written poem would make you feel. Thank you for that vividly depressing yet inspiring, wonderful yet terrible at-the-same-time scene.
-
Very sensual; even though Lisa is so dirty and covered in soot, the idea of a woman's curves dancing under a dress always seems so exotic! The language/explitives? Was your choice of diction to draw more attention to the contrast of the scene?
-
this is awesome i love how vivid the picture is in my head as i am reading. excellent write!!
-
This is beautiful and full of life. I enjoy reading this one. You tell things that most people forget, like me. Thank you for reminding me. God bless you.
Tabitha -
Art has, for me, always been a personal adventure. i did well enough at school but not where I could ever earn a living at it or find any of my work on exhibition, but i digress – art is an inner experience, a visceral thing, whether in creating or observing. The gut must be impacted first, the intestines must curl and writhe a bit before the brain can react to the image, before it can make some ‘other thing’ out of what is seen. I read your poem and find a living thing that dwells beyond the realms of art. A living thing that formed itself within the depths of body and heart, resonating at a frequency heretofore untouched. I felt this vibrating of soul, when i first heard Ferlinghetti read aloud, when I learned what passion was. Your poem feels like passion and a desert thunderstorm in August; both so powerfully sensual. Reading this poem reminds me of the end line in “Poetry is a Destructive Force” by Wallace Stevens, where he says “It can kill a man”.
blessings and best wishes,
~richard
-
The last image I am left with is calm before the storm. I feel there is more to this story, and am intrigued as to what Lisa might do once the rain starts to fall. Very crisp images, and I cannot help but smile in reaction to your ending. Great writing here, thank you,
Jin
-
I love the ying and yang of this piece. There are such rich images unfolding for me here, courtesy of your words. My favorites - "at the assemblage of new dirt" - "Lisa in bare feet up from the company town, black soot on her cheek, me fresh out of prayers" Your raw descriptions keep it real, painful enough to demand my attention. The ending - sad, honest, hopeful - most of all, human. Well written and very thought provoking. Nice work, I enjoyed reading and re-reading it, finding a bit more depth each time.
-
WOW
I like this. I am kinda at a loss as to what else to say about this piece.
-
OH!
If you ever look for me, across a room, I will be in the study, you see, of the Athenaeum (ah! I love learning thank you very much) ... searching for cryptic clues ... That is me, in summer dress, hair released from tight bun into silken shower on shoulders of young ...
So what does Lisa know of dirt? Except mascara on her cheek? I must confess: I am jealous.
I am not very street wise. 
Crude words notwithstanding: you keep me reading your intriguing poems ... for somehow Jesus walks on this pavements of poetic pauses.
-
You make the underbelly of the town alive and ready to burst like a very full blister.
"Fading towards the church" is haunting and ghostly, you can see the mourners skim the landscape in this slow procession then boom the mucky reality and brilliantness of the whores and rubbish bins and sooty bodies comes like this great thrashing attack.
I want to know who owns everything in that company town - nobody can ever own all the heaving, slicing life in the city, the city's tethered to nothing. I like how you say "up from the town" and "up to the city" - almost a snidey little restructuring of the class ordering in something frightening like Metropolis - no you don't put the squalor at the bottom, you have to "go up" to it. That "up" has to mean a lot. Both are heaven and both are hell or both are neither. Lovely - that tiny "up" fucks up the neat little hierarchy of ruling class sitting peachy at the top - step down to the bourgeoisie step down down down down down to the proletariat or whatever - and it's glorious.
Maybe if nobody's talking "about" (well hopefully with) poorer people they are talking to the wrong people and listening in the wrong places? I think the idea nobody's talking on/ about/ from within poverty is bollocks - just not true at all - it's an idea that denies people living in poverty even have their own voice before it suggests that other people don't care. People are talking looking in and looking out of poverty everywhere.
Great poem.
-
Ever notice no one ever talks about the poor anymore? No one ever mentions poor people on the news
unless of course there is a voting scandal or a natural disaster that rips through their hometown or something and then they get mentioned but usually only for purposes of politics.
How come, I wonder, everyone interested in the vague naughty bits in this poem
when there is that entire section there about the dead people in the trash. This poem using summer dresses as a trick. Well not a trick so much as a poetic device so to speak
Summer dresses covering up the real stuff
the dirt
that not everyone wants to see but is just as beautiful perhaps if not more
real.
I like Sargent too.
This poem about Things. And makes it hard to comment on cause it is about Things that are Big
Baudelaire whispering in your ear?
Lisa
-
I thought the waiting-for-Jesus girls didn't copulate, though they certainly urinate and shit, while they are waiting.
Good ending. Though I am not keen on costumes and things. Son of a fashion designer, you see. I just eye the curves of her.
Howling with sad smile: vair vair nice.
-
-
But that dress is so so Hedda Gabler it hurts
-
-
Interesting piece. Thanks for the read!
-
Those summer dresses will do it every time - never mind the dirty feet or the dirty face, seems the rest is what's grabbing the attention at this time of year. LOL Great flow, and story told in these lines. Those old western company towns were well know for many like Lisa who made their living off the men in the town.
-
pardon me please...but this was a strange...yet very engrossing write... i even read it three times...LOL...peace and harmony...Desi
-
I just love that ending.
-
Oh But darling, darling the dress in that picture is blatantly more suited to Autumn don't you know... such rich chocolate browns are best worn when the leaves start to fall - bitter chocolate for the bitter loss of leaves don't you know - that dress is far too opulent for summer, the detail just below the bodice far too prolific, too sort of plush, sort of palatial. When will men learn!
Umm. Sorry. I get a bit too thespy when it comes to costume. I can't even concentrate on the plume at the moment because I'm staring at that dress to much. I want it. Sorry I'll come back and think about the poem later. What a dress. I'm dribbling. -
One of my favorite paintings by a man who really knew how to paint.
Poem ain't bad neither
Lisa in a summer dress against a slag heap in Appalachia
wonderful juxtapostion. (art word)
I can smell the coal dust and wonder at her clean feet.
And no matter what the milieu, a pretty girl in a summer frock, just can't be beat
-
and as he stood
his prick knew no conscience... lololol
hahahhaha
ooops
dirty, filthy, dirty, filthy....
damn yes.... I love the mindwanderings and utterances of guilt and despair mixed with the longing for her dress to become sodden
clever Mistah
-
Adding your comment:
1 - 38 of 38
