tomorrow, severed sun. sisters wound;
two fogs as one now rich as man,
talk centuries to the hooks of days' uncurtained mile.
too soon your god of velvet cried his sheep to sleep as marrow
with barrow-boys in slumber masks
too dead to weep as willow now the settled dust of summer,
springs forward death on ponds of lilly,
naked as the childless corn of Genesis;
by fireside, heat of son, the fallen calf of worm,
turns tide to mud-harp Maud Gonnes' land of wars.
in Tomb of love
where lives but dies, two years as dead as she,
re-incarnate; (both squirrel and the bird)
two coffins flight one single soul,
new child or old returned?
can padlocks hide such secrets never told?
as selfish sword; two cuts,
to salvage blood. to love as wrist to shoulder.
the buttoned shoes of soldier,
marching sun-bright to the straight one,
to dolls house free and orange as,
twice as spring once winter counts one secret X;
what now do we, we pilgrims to the plague?
we have yet to age as seven days to wonder;
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 14th, 2021 05:23
- Comment from author about the poem: dedicated, if ever so slightly...to Maud Gonne;
- Category: Sociopolitical
- Views: 34
Offline)
Comments1
well, you've got to be one amazing Lady,
for a man like Yeats, to covet you for an entire lifetime
enough, not only to propose to you countless times
but to your Daughter: as well....?
yeah, that - long...
(thanks for sharing, my friend
as usual, just a poetic treat
of a read)
'the buttoned shoes of soldier, marching
sun-bright to the straight one,
to dolls house
free and orange as, twice as spring
once winter counts
one secret X;
what now
do we,
we pilgrims
to the plague?'
indeed so L B;
and here am i, a lowly poet, sharing my grief with him!
and with my dear friends here on MPS;
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