It is not said what was meant
that is said peopling them words
that came down from the city,
the sad man with paper rolled
underneath his arm
the preacher of the rumpled suit
the circuit same as last week
maybe a new baby
to be sent off to the Lord,
a new outhouse to be dug in the bottom.
Reckin that what was meant got forgot
down along the stream
where the mill waits till tomorrow
the old wheel turning
a spin an creak
that no-one--feeds
every body was talkin but Joe
and he’d forgotten what it was
he meant to say,
primroses and the marigolds
all tamed
what it was it surely used to be
same dirt, but pushed around some
till it got slick
and wasn’t something you could stand,
smell always gettin worse,
they got him a new suit
built a rock church outta sand & glass,
gave him some shined words
but told him not to dance no-more.
Author notes
Two
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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But then ...
Love is always misinterpreted; and in the silence words become not symbols anymore but mostly only guttural grunts. Who would stop to fit the second key, if the first one sounded false?
Refined, the poem goes to another level and almost in anger the words cry: release us, we want to be mortal.
But no.
For the Love of God, try to be pure.
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Sad that Joe waited so long. He probably didn't notice some things that slid by. It is certainly strange to bear so much spotlight - and at such great distance; that would make a repeatable circuit. Floodlights are good.
In the second line, "that is said" confuses me; and later "no-one--feeds" as well.
I like the idea of the Nature world being relegated...well, I don't like it living outside your poem...but I like it there. This is what I thought when I read:
"primroses and the marigolds
all tamed
what it was it surely used to be
same dirt, but pushed around some
till it got slick
and wasn’t something you could stand,
smell always gettin worse"
I missed the typos.
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you have a few minor typos, but all in all, well written.
good luck in my contest.
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