his bones resurface from the ashpit whenever I think I've crushed his final nib & forklifted more lush flames onto his grounds last week it was a hand passed itself up through char & cupped compacted crater lip clunk clunk thud like a catfish that won't die for several hammer swings to head it flopped & flipped its way past roots which w(oul)d've recoiled if they c(oul)d long ago—cedars don't believe in vengeance don't understand how remembered fires are passed by force of skin to skin & spread if not contained by lighting them again
Written in response to Big Tent Poetry’s Monday Prompt for 22 November 2010.
- A Poem For Thursday (andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com)
- Friday Poem (3quarksdaily.com)
I like what you did with the words.
Sometimes one just has to keep re-doing it. I love the push/pull of force in this piece.
This brings to mind the writing of Steven King. Really well done.
I wish I had the energy and time to participate.
Don’t Forget I Love You
It curls in me like
thin gray leaders of old smoke.
It has the quiet
stench of the ash trays
of that drug house we lived in,
of the dusty floors.
I fear the way you
sometimes look at me. I know
you are recalling
my deflated shape
and I cannot hide from it
so I shiver, shake.
I think that would keep me awake too!
With every poem, you out do yourself…
Whoa. That was good. Uncomfortable, stark, well-imagined and cleanly executed.
WOW! This was spooky, clever, and terrific. You used the Wordle like a smorgasbord and it didn’t feel at all forced. Congrats on a great poem!
I posted late, so here is my link:
I like how “last week …” puts me on edge for what will come next.
The image of “long-ago cedars” is mysterious, and followed by “force of skin/ to skin & spread” both sensual and frightening.
I really like the way you used the language in this to personify a force of nature. Well done.