Watch the singer in the sinking sand,
Singing a ballad about dry land,
Loves nothing more than the feel of clay,
But sand swallows up the light of day;
Darkest of nights lies that way.
"Dry land, dry land" - the singer's refrain,
Pining for what he will not attain,
"Oh clay, dear clay" - the singer's lament,
Soon swallowed in shadow and silent;
In darkness that poor soul was rent.
--Iain
eeek... way more dark than I wanted it to be :oS
ReplyDeleteI take it someone didn't like wearing a top hat and old clothes?
ReplyDeletetwas a bit dark.. nice though.
yeah, there's nothing like watching a poem emerge from your mind and liking what you see...
ReplyDeletethe ball was postponed due to unavoidable and unfortunate circumstances, so this poem actually has nothing to do with old clothes and top hats. it's a pity, i was looking forward to the ball, but i'll just have to continue looking forward to it.
Imitations at Werris Creek
ReplyDeleteDense syllables, trees
and the breath of grey fire:
the train hurls us
at everning. Yellow
trucks hurtle the other way.
The carriage is filled
with teenagers, flushed
with reluctant arrival
and kangaroos. They sing
ABBA as the hills bud
dark, cattle and tarnished
silver dams slice
into soft peaks.
I told you I'd go.
And following are several aspects of this poem that remind me of the WPT.
ReplyDeletethe train hurls us
at everning.
The carriage is filled
with teenagers, flushed
with reluctant arrival
They sing
the hills
glad you went :o) glad too that you understand what he meant by "flushed/with reluctant arrival", cos the people I was there with didn't and I thought it was pretty obvious!
ReplyDelete