see the madwoman in front of her cottage--
see her cats nearby,
like crows around a reddening sun,
as it burns against
banishment by degrees, in futility.
she hates the smooth sky
with its sycophant stars on their way.
see her woodish hands
held in fists at her sides.
speak her name,
watch her crumble.
_______
a fifty-five for the G Man
Some go quietly, some go screaming!
ReplyDeleteSome leave a lasting legacy of brilliance.....
Loved your 55 Shaysie..
I'm ALWAYS honored when you add to the fun.
Thanks for playing, and have a Kick Ass Week-End...G
you will never take me with you...i silently scream into the night...
ReplyDeletemy aluminum foil helmet protects me...
Very cool, Shay. :)
ReplyDeletePortrait of a madwoman, getting there...That third line is instantly visual, and it carries the piece inexorably along to each next step of words, rung by rung on its downward progress into the black hole. Fine writing Shay--so intense it's hard to believe its just 55 words.
ReplyDeletesuper visual imagery,
ReplyDeleteI see her there and wow...
very effective writing...
fabulous 55 to chew on and think about....
Happy Weekend,
55 words? Doesn't seem possible!
ReplyDeleteMrs Stiltskin, I presume?
ReplyDeleteYou sure didn't need more than fifty-five words to make this one fierce.
ReplyDeleteA downward spiral if ever there was one... and you built the staircase for it with these lines.
Well done!
Wowzers, Shay, this is SMOKIN'. I love the crows around the reddening sun, and her wooden fists at her side. Love this poem so much!
ReplyDeleteI didn't know that about crows and the sun.
ReplyDeleteI like the woodish hands thing. Reminds me of that woman in a novel describe as having 2 hands as big and as red as huge lobsters. "A Book Of Ruth", I think?
xoxo
She was asked one too many times about a Redbook . . .
ReplyDeleteI really like the image of woodish hands.
I don't trust smooth sky haters.
ReplyDeletemmm... a madwoman with cats ~ sign me up :)
ReplyDeletexx
I think she lives near me...
ReplyDeleteLove the new look, Shay!
The reddening sun, burning against banishment, futilely... Dusk never sounded so dramatic, Shay. Brilliant in every sense of the word.
ReplyDeleteLike everyone else I'm struck by "crows around a reddening sun" and "woodish hands," but what really gets me is the ending--how she disintegrates when called by her name, suggesting that she cannot be spoken. Not simply a fine write here, but intriguing and provocative.
ReplyDeleteCats like crows around a reddening sun. I like that...and the woodish hands sound appealing as well. Wonderfully written, Shay.
ReplyDeletevery vivid imagery her! Good stuff.
ReplyDelete