| Poem: Submit | Random | Best | Worst | Recent | Comments |
|
The Grave (thanks to z) (Free verse) by Mr Pig Salt falls on veneer
Veiled in pauperâs wood,
The clock-watching chaplain sweats
As I refuse to leave you.
Staring at your headstone,
Looking at its immortalized syntax
Chosen at random by your rushed mother
Who coped when I faltered.
Itâs quiet here, and
fragrant colors are riot near.
At least youâre under the willow
You liked the thought of it weeping above you
And all I can say, in predictable cliche,
Is, God, how much I love you.
I stare
at the topaz clouds,
damasking heaven's constant eye,
Wondering as I'm watching you
If you are watching I.
For now, I want to believe--
People always do, when they grieve.
Your epitaph,
emblazoned in appropriate Catholicism:
Words describing an everyman.
It doesnât matter to me,
For you are inscribed on my soul.
Up the ladder:
The Beach
Down the ladder:
They who would have me forget
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 7.1666665
Posted: August 19, 2003 1:27 PM PDT; Last modified: August 20, 2003 1:57 AM PDTWeighted score: 5.5827065 Overall Rank: 2342 Comments:
[8]
richa @ 81.86.93.104
|
19-Aug-03/1:44 PM
|
Reply
your word selection always intrigues, 'syntax' and 'appropriate catholicism' are particularly effective in conveying how detached ritual is from death.
[you speak of her in both second and 3rd person--in this edit, I made it all 2nd, as she is so very near, still.] witness, the z edit:
Salt falls on veneer Veiled in pauperâs wood, The clock-watching chaplain sweats As I refuse to leave you. Staring at your headstone, Looking at its immortalized syntax Chosen at random by your rushed mother Who coped when I faltered. Itâs quiet here, and fragrant colors are riot near. At least youâre under the willow You liked the thought of it weeping above you And all I can say, in predictable cliche, Is, God, how much I love you. I stare at the topaz clouds, damasking heavens constant eye, Wondering as I'm watching you If you are watching I. For now, I want to believe-- People always do, when they grieve. Your epitaph, emblazoned in appropriate Catholicism: Words describing an everyman. It doesnât matter to me, For you are inscribed on my soul.
I am taking your advice and I thank you for your careful eye.
Any thoughts Ms Z?
i like this very much, pig. some lovely moments, here.
favorites: its immortalized syntax fragrant colors are riot And all I can say, in predictable cliche, Is, God, how much I love you topaz clouds, damasking heaven's constant eye [oops--you need an apostrophe in heaven's] emblazoned in appropriate Catholicism the only part i am so/so on is "For you are inscribed on my soul." agh. whenever someone brings up 'soul' in a love and loss poem, it sounds cliched. unless handled with delicate mastery. i dare not do it myself for another 3 decades. think of all that i must learn and unlearn before i turn that phrase! and besides, you deftly dispensed with cliche in the preceding stanzas. so, what can you do about it? i don't know. beautiful work, pig.
Gilameshtic
Mr. Pig,
Really nice work. There is some good work on this site but many times I am left untouched by pieces that are well crafted but without real meaning. This work hit home in a powerful way. I really enjoyed reading it. Joe. P.S As usual, I think Z was right on the mark with her comments. She's a serious and classy lady isn't she?
She's too classy for this site my young fry thats for sure. But yes she is an artform of feminine beauty. (I wouldn't like to cross her though sunshine)
poorly said: "fragrant colors are riot near"
I most enjoyed the first 2 stanzas and the last one. The poem captures strong emotion. 247 view(s)
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
