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Submitted by dbaker on 30 December 2007 - 9:16am.| Updated 31 December 2007 - 9:19am.
Style / Type:
freeform
Where did you go?
I lost touch with you and when I did
you
slipped
beneath
the
waves.
After a husband’s suicide…
Of those hard men who love to break
not hold
In those moments of
desperation
between
flight
or
fight
What happened to you?
You were the sister I always wanted
good enough for cousins but still…
I lost touch with you and when I did
you
slipped
beneath
the
waves.
After a husband’s suicide…
Of those hard men who love to break
not hold
In those moments of
desperation
between
flight
or
fight
What happened to you?
You were the sister I always wanted
good enough for cousins but still…
You thought your life was in Spain
and we parted
His
death
came at the price
of
your
spirit
Was it enough?
Can you
place a measure
on that little
girl with red hair
sitting
on her
grandfather’s
tractor?
What did you do?
His choking
on dancing vapors
from his exhaust pipe
must
have
come
as a
surprise.
How did you explain?
The shrine made on the dashboard to his daughters?
Will they always see a golden ring
surrounded by blue fumes
as a
sign
of
death?
His instability
His inability
were his
downfall
Clipping your wings to stay earthbound with a dead husband has been a solution?
What does the sun tell you?
Rise
Does the sea still
and fall on
The other side of history?
Do voices of antiquity
in steamy town squares
whisper their stories?
Or has their chatter
fallen
silent
when
you
begin
screaming
in your head?
Will you come back?
The pinyons miss your inner
radiance
As much as the sun misses your
face.
Walk once more
with the grace
that God gave
all women.
Find again home
those places
that filled
you
with
light.
Come find the little girl
on the tractor
who was once
all smiles
and
red hair.
-DS Baker
and we parted
His
death
came at the price
of
your
spirit
Was it enough?
Can you
place a measure
on that little
girl with red hair
sitting
on her
grandfather’s
tractor?
What did you do?
His choking
on dancing vapors
from his exhaust pipe
must
have
come
as a
surprise.
How did you explain?
The shrine made on the dashboard to his daughters?
Will they always see a golden ring
surrounded by blue fumes
as a
sign
of
death?
His instability
His inability
were his
downfall
Clipping your wings to stay earthbound with a dead husband has been a solution?
What does the sun tell you?
Rise
Does the sea still
and fall on
The other side of history?
Do voices of antiquity
in steamy town squares
whisper their stories?
Or has their chatter
fallen
silent
when
you
begin
screaming
in your head?
Will you come back?
The pinyons miss your inner
radiance
As much as the sun misses your
face.
Walk once more
with the grace
that God gave
all women.
Find again home
those places
that filled
you
with
light.
Come find the little girl
on the tractor
who was once
all smiles
and
red hair.
-DS Baker
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
Is the internal logic consistent?
(1 vote)
It felt like an invasion of privacy reading this.
It’s good poetry but so fucking personal, I feel I should butt out.
Hope you and her are ok.
cheers,
Jess
Re Your Comments
Jess my buddy the Elf,
This piece was about my favorite cousin, who lost her husband. Mostly it was about that in-between time in the grieving process. I tried to write it so that the reader would not know for sure if, it was written with a male or female perspective.
and YES she is doing fine. Ten years after the passing of her husband, (who incidentally was one of my best friends)she has remarried and had a surprise third daughter show up. She told me she was tired of waiting for one of her other daughters to give her a grandchild, she decided to make a grandkid of her own!
Like anyone that has lost a spouse or significant other, you can’t really do much for them. They have to weather the storm themselves. I guess the best you can do is to try to remind them of who they were and where they came from. Sometimes that sort of reminder is enough to keep them going.
Sorry for the overly wordy reply.
If you head to your local tonight, have a pint and think of me! Happy New Year!
-DS Baker
Not over wordy, I appreciate it.
But the local brew I am drinking is called Cockatoo Ridge, a bottle brewed sparkling wine that we are no longer legally allowed to call Champaigne because the French are such arrogant cunts. And looking after business.
You know, when the French were still doing nuclear tests in the South Pacific almost every French restaurant in Australia went out of business. I felt sorry for the poor buggers, some put up signs in their windows saying “We protest Nuclear testing”. But we both know what arrogant arseholes they are, almost as arrogant as America and Britain. Remember the bombing of of the “Rainbow Warrior” by the French secret service?
cheers,
Jess
What the F?
That begs the question then…You need to explain to me the significance of having a {Cookaburra Bird with stick of Dynamite in its beak} At least I think that is a Cookaburra Bird-pardon the spelling. I am not as caught up as I should be on Australian birds.
PS not that I have created a big hole by my absence but, I have been ill for a really long time-4 1/2 months.-Seems I have been allergic to the entire eastern half of my country; I am getting better and plan on spending more time on the site.
-DSB
Kookaburra is my personal totem
He symbolises rebellion with humour, anarchy, a shit-stirrer if you will. The dynamite has become distasteful in recent years but he keeps it as a symbol that no institutionalised walls are safe.
Sorry to hear you’ve been crook, yes you have left a hole in the site, and glad to hear you’re better.
(lights up a Winfield Blue and hands it to you with a stubby of 4X and a shot of Bundy OP on the side)
cheers,
Jess
p.s. read my poem “Chinese” for a better understanding of Kookaburras and a certain warrior Siamese cat