Free verse № 108608
Divorcing Tennessee
For lack of support
and too little love,
you divorce Tennessee
and go to one who is handsomer,
wealthier and warmer,
such as San Luis Obispo,
and next summer you write a
letter back to Gainesboro,
all about your new life,
a new religion that isn't
based on guilt and ritual! no!
it's based on mutual respect,
a willingness to explore our spirituality,
and you write all about your new friends,
your inquiring intellect and your success,
and tell them you made a rational move,
and all is well for a while,
til October rolls around,
and you miss the delicious sadness of fall,
the blazing yellow poplars,
and oaks turning red,
the smell of potatoes, wood smoke, and rotting logs.
Having lost October, you've become an occupant of a house,
a credit-card holder, an insuree, a face on a driver's license,
and devoutly wish for someone in rolled-up shirtsleeves,
to whom you can bring lemonade,
while he stops the chainsaw for a few minutes,
or that a giant earthquake
would hurl you into the Pacific.
40 comments
Some years ago i ust to deliver goods to Argos
up at the cresex ind est
I went in the swan the gate and of corse the hobgoblin.
and had a dona from one of those vans on the high street.
good memorys
Or else you've decided for some reason beyond my comprehension that written English follows entirely different rules from spoken English in terms of sense, syntax and whatnot - thusly indelibly marking yourself as the worst kind of dim.
You're kind of becoming Zodiac Hussein. Poemrankers tyrannical, structural dictator. I suppose that we must have one though. So, watch yourself over there and don't get kidnapped. You know they will anally rape you while making you read thousands of pages of unstructured, misspelled muslim poetry in a mixture of broken English and...and...that habadibadobi stuff that they speak over there.
P.s. - Is syntax not the sexiest word ever?
The rest of your comment has a serious case of dim.
PS-No.
Don't listen to Z. He's an enigma trapped within a foil condom wrapper being nuked in a microwave oven and arcing all over the small cooking space. Let's just watch the fireworks through the window and shout, "Whoopee! Burn, Baby, burn!" Then we can flush him down the john and make some lowfat popcorn, cover it with melted butter and watch "Fried Green Tomatoes and Akira Kurasawa's "Dreams" back to back.
The poem reads, at least to someone who has never been to Tennessee, like it was written by someone from Tennessee, or rather that these were the raw thoughts of the person failing to assure themselves of their decision.
I love the beauty and artistry of the language as much as anyone, but I also love its flexibility. Someone with the skill for expression should be allowed to make the determination for themselves whether to use formal or free flowing styles to reflect their subject matter. Any elitist to say otherwise can go to Barstow as far as I'm concerned.
a beautiful state and probably more laid back than most. This is indicated by your poem.
Imaginative and one of your best.
i know i will live and die where ya get changes of seasons, too.
~Sunny
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