Burying the other - final poem from the final section.

By london_calling79

Sun, 27 Nov 2011
  • 851 reads
2 comments
 

Burying the other

A silent child's hand on a jacket,
the ticking of my grandfather's watch
and the shovel's in the dirt.

They lowered your body into the ground,
exquisite from a distance.
The spirit plummets and the shovel's in the dirt.

You are tumbling down,
down into some worm fed slumber.
Down with my green paper demons
whose teeth chatter and chew on the
fat black stake in your heart.

They faced you down, down
but the memory, the silent destroyer
gently nurtures you from the belly of the earth
up to some sky facing hatch
you stretch.
I force you down, down
and retch.

I tie up my stomach of emotions.
A bunch of close knit flowers,
Every stem a different regret
and cut the ribbon to the inch.
Let them rot with you, my forgotten cross
With the shovel in the dirt at your temple.

Certificate U
Poem
Starting Out
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by scratch on
Well London, You write with power and myopic imagery. Stems of flowers/regrets - superb imagery. Forceful. This reminds me of Blakes "A poison Tree" in terms of the powerful feelings. Well done.

 

Submitted by london_calling79 on
Thanks scratch! High praise indeed. I wanted a tick tock feeling to the poem as time passes but not quite sure I've achieved it. Those long slow feelings you get at times just remind of some stately grandfather clock just gradually getting on with life.