I'm not
wintering in this wire,
the wood's splitting now,
going grey to the fire
and i'm in line, too.
Powder
snows over the mounds,
where imprints and thuds
mark a fence fallen down,
eventually built new.
I can hear a
rip in the wind's inflection,
fate raging like an infection -
one day it'll come for me too,
like a horrible flu
that I caught by the neck, by some wild mis-
take. It's a chain-gang of words,
a couple of birds
scavenging in the grass. Let the cars go
past me, let the world go burn,
together we'll learn.
Planting
comes a girl in a coat
where posts were pulled out,
slicing sea across the boat-
seats, where they seemed too dry.
Young trees;
her sleeves seem to dance
to a celibate's oath,
and the things that she plants,
she wants to see die.
Who's she work for?
Knee-deep in mechanic industry,
painting death's nails with these trees.
She'd make it hurt less if she could:
the hands on my wood,
being ripped from the ground, mostly broken from
browned leaves falling hot from the sky.
The ground blinks an eye
and falls asleep without me, and the wind is
green, like some unformed sentiment
and it's all that i ever
meant
to say.
Seasons
sow the birds underfoot
I scan the fields
but the winter has put
them broken on shelves.
In spring
will they be able to fly
when their ears have been held
against so white a sky
they could hear themselves?
i can hear the truck,
they want a sweet wooden soul to bake
to burn up with all the leaves they rake.
Removed, i leave behind a hole,
and the smoke that i snow
drifts tenderly back to that soft crack,
lightly papering all the shells
and escaped hells
of locusts that fled from some raging
flame red. I hope that they find
my ash softer, more kind.
I can't
remember what's in store
for the tree in my place
because my wood died before
I was ever departed.
Thank you,
i said when the rain
began to come down
batting trees away,
awkward but good-hearted.
Author notes
The reflections of an old fence post, eventually uprooted and burned. The wild card is the girl planting trees in the holes left by the removed posts.
A contest entry
- ROUNDS (1) - Give Me Your Best. by HereComesTheSun.
550 points, ended August 13, 36 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Rhyming prewrites :] by Ami.
550 points, ended August 24, 75 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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thanks for entering
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It is skill enough to evoke a feeling with vivid and varied imagery, which you have shown so often before, but to play a contrasting feeling against it amplifies the effect exponentially--it is the essence of the genius of sonata form in music. This one reminds me of the first movement of the Brahms First Symphony (C minor), where Inexorable Fate comes marching in right at the very beginning. When the contrasting major theme finally enters, it is very muted and pensive--almost as if to deny its character--still a major theme, although never seeming to get the upper hand, until the last few measures--almost ending with a whimper.
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I really like this piece, the details you wrote about are very vivid and clear, very nice story as well
Thanks for sharing, have a great day!
x -
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thank you! i'm glad you appreciated the story. you too.
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