I recall
the splitting of the Elm
when the French & English
Quarreled
and the wars that raged on and on;
in some dark corners
it was said that it was a vaginal inflection
yet we danced through History
like a fly on a dungheap.
My Cannon is no longer brass
but I polish it anyway
we were planting white lilies
but the Earthquake
swallowed them whole.
it was a Possessive Case,
so said the Lord
watching the dead march past
row upon row.
I was only a little annoyed
and returned to the garden
on St. Crispin's Day
with a trowel and new soil.
Author notes
Written October 23rd, 2004
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when i was in the movie & theatre business, we took off for all the holidays, st crispin's day and national donut day included. but these damn truckers work all the holidays. makes you wanna quarrel.
my cannon no longer brass either, but I let her polish it for me
been awhile since I watched the Lord watch the dead march past row after row. I watch the dallas cowboys these sundays. it's about the same thing, really.
Stone clueless but trying to fake it, but I'm blind from too many years of masturbation.
~travis
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this is indeed interesting,um i am not sure what else to say.
great job -
Deep!
Perserverance through odd troubles and convolutions of brain matter that take detours meandering along untrod paths! Strange vignette that haunts me even after the page leaves my eyes! -
As they all say...
"Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel"....
or was it...
"The scoundrel is the last refuge of patriotism"?
I don't know. -
Hi, a dark bitter sweet poem, it is quite deep and looks beyond the usual, I found it very interesting, and the word use fitted very well, all the best a most interesting write, Di
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I wonder are you taking on the magical realism movement with these broad strokes. You have a sumptuous meal to feast on/ponder in these oblique images. A thoughtprovoking work. For those who felt dungheap is unusual: it has been used by many poets in the past, from Gunter Gross to Pablo Neruda...
I will get back to it, later, with more thoughts
Calvin -
Yeah ha ha "quarrel" that is so English. English Lord people have a "quarrel" so think tis alright be murdering swines. After there is crumpets and scones. Know something? Some English type people cannot even say scones correctly - like the Worm cannot.
Quarrel yes. Spot on.
"Dazzling word selection"
But not vaginal - that word is vile.
But yes "quarrel" -
Is this some American Holiday when you eat Findus Crispy Crispin Pancakes - the height of classic 70s cuisine, and write frightening, frightening poem things. Oh WOW WOW nobody has called it "dark" yet - that's shocking, normally it's the race to call gory stuff dark in comment things. Hey but. Comments just flies in dung castles to though - once right - I played frisbee with a dried up Elephant poo when I was in Africa. That's different. All the chivalry and fellowship and stuff in Henry V nasty - he lied to them - we all a bit the same when we die and bit like we all a band of those brothers, whatever, I don't remember but they poor and he rich and they will die and the worms will eat them after the stopped wiggling around in google but but Kings die and they get statues and stuff and he was good at speaking his glory propaganda but they never saw tomorrow and lived to that old age. What a liar. Like when he bangs on about them calling him Harry - maybe he just wanted to be loved and whatnot. Not not. I suppose at least he went to the front and whatever so it's better than Bushface. Oh - what - masturbation - "hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks" - I suppose that's fair enough if they wanted a wank while Harry was going on. Tis very long speech after all.
Rows and rows and bands and brothers and things but he tried to talk about big lies like noblity but very very silly because he only meant death.
I'm a little annoyed to really.
Hey but, "gentle condition" that would be so lovely if it wasn't royal man lies.
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"He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars. And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Second time this week I've seen the word dung used in poetry and it's such a descriptive word, yet falls flat, dung.
Looks like you have a little series going on here. I like it a lot. Fact and fiction, St. Crispin (October 25 mark your calendar) and dung. Yup. Like it.
Desiree
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Heck. Last time I saw something as elliptical as this it was an ellipse. Grammar, history of language, war, masturbation, death.
Google time. Wormy attempt at critique to follow, or not, depending on degree of success.
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