Ennui and we
or we and
slow at the gate
in the dog race
too weary to chase
the wooden rabbit far
across the mottled mud
the family soul
the truth below the snow,
the cross within the bloody eyes
Like a widow in the wilderness,
to sway and keen
the sand in the wind stings
its ferrule strings
follows the old furrows,
flows,
etched with bits of skin
till the bones are all that remain,
on the stage
when the lights dim
and the interpretation begins.
The hand relaxes
on the arm of the velvet chair
the wooden rabbit stares.
Author notes
Written November 1st, 2004
In a list
What did you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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Another superbly crafted write. It reminded me of TS Eliot.
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I came, I saw, I say
nice.
(I didn't go to bed tonight.. have to fight to register for classes this morning.. but I couldn't leave without a comment)
~Scarlet -
Hehe... wow I feel stupid. I have been living in Poland for 2 months and one week, my english is already at a veeery primitive level, I speak English like the Poles do. Sorry, I had to look up a few words. It is a very good poem, deep and thoughtful. I liked reading it. I will try and read some of your other stuff! Great write. keep penning!! ~~Kasia
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LOL...this kicked arse! lol I REALLY got a supreme kick outta this one, mostly because it was so abstract yet it said so much...especially those last few lines...and since I was born in the year of the wood rabbit, this was even MORE enjoyable! LOL Excellent job.
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I don't like dog races or presidential races or any races where there's a chance I end up a loser.
Oh well. Stood in line for an hour and a half, hopefully not in vane but I did learn all the neighborhood gossip so not a total waste.
Desiree
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Odd, haunting, graceefully written; I like it.
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Ahem. Bored?
Quite frankly also because its the dog races. Dad and my brother Brian owned race horses (after years and years of betting at Meadowlands they finally plunged into the business for a while). Those horses got treated better than a lot of humans .. it used to bug me when I was old enough to understand a bit. But then .. well nevermind.
When my brother Neal and I were very little Dad used to let us pick his bets by the horses names from the newspaper .. then when we were old enough to go to the track, by the color of the silks. Gambling is very bad though. Fun but very bad if you can't control it.
I hate when the sand blows at the beach and digs into your calves .. it does certainly sting and gets into lunch as well.
Remember the Velveteen Rabbit and Skin Horse ..and being made Real? Velvet and Rabbit so close together made me think of them.
Don't Forget to Vote. (I'm reminding Everyone). And Of COURSE that is what this whole POME is about .. I'm sure. hehe.
Oh I'm supposed to say something about your Poem. Sorry, I'll try to be better about that from now on.
Edited on Nov 02, 4:07 because ''. -
Awesome
Now, now, Lute ... so bored; so listless ... and this voting is soooooo importent! All the lies stripped away, only the bones remain - NOW it is time for the interpretation, the calculation ... The dummy resting from the dog race ...
Hmmmmm. Not bad. With those incredible alliterations
to sway and keen
the sand in the wind stings
its ferrule strings
follows the old furrows,
flows,
etched with bits of skin
who the hell will have any flesh left?
Armchair Analyzing again, Poet.
Myra
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