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Maelstrom

Maelstrom

A man is pitched through the door
by blasts from steppes.
Scrub and cactus land,
Earth’s belly has been ripped open,
giving birth to grit and death.
Gloom is ushered in by a maelstrom of dust.
Tumbleweed scratches at windows,
spidery skeletons seeking shelter
from relentless wind.

Our orchard, clothed in pale shrouds,
gashed trees lean on sheds and plough.
Earth’s face is prematurely wrinkled, dry.
An old hag, her innards
tense as the skin of a kultrún. *
Trampled on for centuries
by cloven hooves of alien herds.

She’s powder, an earthen pyre,
genitals raped by natural forces
devouring rich layers of fertility.
Hag’s eyes are tearless,
not rained a drop in eons;
on this devastation
lie the dying... lies all hope.

My man’s face is seared with dust,
eyelids heavy with gray desperation.
Sweat has succumbed to an earthy mask,
dry runnels on his cheeks,
scarred hole of his mouth.
No man ever gained over December’s wind.
He drops his clothes in a sad heap,
opens his arms to my cool body,
presses me tight to his patient heart.

Uncanny silence,
a sickle moon will knife Patagonian skies,
overlooking centennial shadows
cast in sword and catastrophe.

* Kultrun = Concave drum with painted mandala. Used by Mapuche, i.e, Earth People.

Hi everbody, can I get some crits for my poem? Feeling left out, because I always comment on your posts.

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The Poetry of the Earth is never Dead. John Keats.

author comment

Is my poem in the wrong forum, again? I really would like some comments. Feeling sad at being ignored.

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The Poetry of the Earth is never Dead. John Keats.

author comment

Very moving picture of a farmer that is at the mercy of Mother Nature. he seems as dried up and worn as the soil he tries to get a crop out of. A story about farmers all over the world, struggling to make a living.
~ Geezer.
.

Come to Chat on the Darkside
every other Saturday night 8pm to ?
Bring your dark and delicious work
to show.

Thank you, Gee. I grew up on a lovely farm in a rich valley, but my father had to work as well on an estancia that was mainly dry bushland. That's where the winds were especially fierce, starting in December. It's the sheep and cows that mainly desertify the land.
Tx again for coming over.

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The Poetry of the Earth is never Dead. John Keats.

author comment

as I ask and post it in the stream? The forum is NOT the place where everyone posts. ~ Geezer.
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Come to Chat on the Darkside
every other Saturday night 8pm to ?
Bring your dark and delicious work
to show.

OK, Gee, could you please copy and paste my poem Maelstrom wherever you people post yours, because for the life of me I don't understand. It's exactly where all the others are. Tx

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The Poetry of the Earth is never Dead. John Keats.

author comment
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