I.
i do not know why,
only that you are gone.
yours is a tale told
by the stones of your eyes
and your cold feet curled in
clumps of weeds, pale sisters
blanched by death, and
unlived years creased
in taut lines of your face.
II.
jesse knows.
he is too late.
in the parched silence of a
winter garden, he weeps for you,
granite seraph smeared with dirt,
but you will never know.
the clear notes of his wails
shatter the heavens. maybe,
if he is lucky, they will surrender you.
III.
forty years later, i want
to believe in your future.
in my mind,
your eyes have lost their coins,
and you smile again, as if autumn
were over, and earth laid bare.
he always says you loved winter,
but i do not know you. you are only
an image torn by my father’s memory
and by the daughter you never knew.
he calls me shelley,
for you.
Author notes
"One single image frame I wish to forget..."
Okay, so it's not all that faithful to the prompt, but it got me thinking. Rest in peace, Shelley (1949-1968), whoever you are.
I hate the ending. Critique this, please!
A contest entry
- Quote Inspiration. by Puking Faerie Dust.
300 points, ended May 7, 23 entries
• next poem in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest
i love criticism. [Reward: double points]
Comments
-
Forty Years, and what do I.
clumps of weeds, pale sisters
blanched by death -- the juxtaposition of clumps, and the causal contrast of the unusual word "blanch"(sic - or is it? "blanche" is what I expect, but I'll look up my dictionary L8R) earn a
from me. Suits the topic, which we all know what it is as we begin to read.
Short lines, free verse. Stanza I.
It struck me:
"I do not know why,
Only that you are still, here"
would make a good line in such a poem. Which I have treated of myself.
he calls
me shelley,
for you.
-- This might make a better terminal triplet?
For the power of the truth of the last line of stanza II, I give another.
,
Master Anarchy.
. Rewarded 8
-
I love the ending. And all the poem. So compelling.
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