Woebegone the wordless way
Woeful stomach to kneel but not pray
This hour of knowing;
Showing our stubborn desuetude
What veins remain are not flowing
What erstwhile kiss is unscheduled?
Anguish being so sweet we felt
Ardour to wet sugar must anew melt
Treachery withholding;
Soaked hearths wordless penumbra
Wearily I unfolding go tap to echoing
Weak scabbed toes a superfluous aurora.
Closely I stab the wicked hours
Cynosure through bog burnt vapours
Trial through falling;
Shovelling peat clumps makes a day
What sussurous kiss went to wilt wanting
Wicked lustrous labours I kneel to stay.
Dreaming wafture of Susquehanna
Demesne is skin tort puce ink panorama
Trembled into showing;
Shivery dry spine creaks old iron
Wrenching bone shards gnawed glowing
When bone bites flesh, flesh cleaved showing
Wakeful heaved a ‘king’ but only for goading.
When the rain comes we’ll sit awhile astride the river
Where-with-all, a wisp a quiver, not spoil even a chill shiver.
Comments
Blessing | October 2, 2011 - 17:29
Bookmarking you to get back to spartarcad. Need to read this again to get to the bone so to speak. Hang in there ... In your element today I see!!!
spartarcad | October 2, 2011 - 17:33
Months pass without a flicker - then more manure than a gob can chew! Sundays, good days for scribblings.
oldpesky | October 2, 2011 - 17:35
Thought I'd try some poetry today. Nope. Haven't a clue. Think I'll head back to the stories section and stay there.
Blessing | October 2, 2011 - 21:30
I was at once filled with wonder when I first read your poem and had to read it several times. And it is indeed a work of wonder and sculpted mystery. I went on a journey. It led me to read “The Dance of the 13 Skeletons” for the first time. I don’t know if you intended for this to be so. But as a child I also read the "Lord of the Dance …" He led them on a merry dance on the Sabbath – all those lost souls without reverence and also making those children “work hard for their living” methinks.
Therefore, keeping in this vein … some pray to bring souls to their own father for all are not one and the same – but such is mercy for an innocent heart. The kiss of death reminded me of the betrayal by Iscariot but I am jumping ahead.
After The Flood – Og was king of Bashan, a type David fought and Ephraim by Gilead was first diminished.
And later still into the night “The Lords of Humankind” further did scatter those who would forget His and their own names, who had wept by Babylon’s rivers and in new lands still do. Who some hung and left as rotting flesh as the furnace of affliction for our sins was Mashiach pierced so that the light should shine in the darkest of times – exactly so and not by what men think they know. But as sound and light are but one this signal nonetheless without whispering they would sing and they would surely know each other by their fruit … The trumpet having blown some time hence … Over a decade, over a Trojan city it blew like a ship’s horn the deep knell for those who measure in troyes … I heard it …
And this, an open door through which learning awaited as knowledge increases as Daniel foretold … And we reach out through links and streams in a web, in a net …
Yours is certainly a work of great depth ... So utterly intriguing ...
spartarcad | October 3, 2011 - 15:44
Are we talking about the same poem...
Blessing | October 4, 2011 - 13:08
Perhaps there is a bridge between them ...
spartarcad | October 5, 2011 - 13:48
Could be!
Blessing | October 5, 2011 - 14:20
Good. I'm smiling ...
spartarcad | October 6, 2011 - 07:38
No harm in smiling! I often do it...