—when skies are hanged and oceans drowned,
the single secret will still be man --e.e. cummings
I spoke to my despair
in a voice that October
wears around its injured throat
on a chain of dripping water.
Because the nights are too long,
I sew their darkness into a jacket
and on the sleeves are
embroidered golden snakes.
I sit at a table made of the world
with legs of heirloom iron and wind.
Young men run past, shouting
and dragging morning to her grave.
In evening, I speak to the cardinal
who comes to my window like a Gypsy.
I say, the dawn is still in love with you
but a snake strikes the cardinal
from my sleeves
and my despair.
______________
for Dverse Poetics "Reflections" The image by Andrew Ridley and the quote by e.e. cummings are required.
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Wow. I was adoring that the morning still loved the cardinal, until the snake. Which is how so many of us are feeling right now.
ReplyDeleteVivid imagery and metaphorical language evoke a poignant struggle with despair, as darkness and hope entwine. Stunning piece!
ReplyDeleteDespair drips through the lines of your poem, Shay, and I love the opening line with its echoes of Blake’s ‘A Poison Tree’. I especially love the idea of sewing nights’ darkness into a jacket.
ReplyDeleteThe impossible weave of beauty and despair here makes the secret both medicine and fate. Like Tony Soprano would say, whaddayagonnado. Write it.
ReplyDeleteStunning imagery and metaphor, all.
ReplyDeleteThis flows so beautifully, mystically ~~~
ReplyDeleteHelen
Wow this poem holds the reader. I love young man run past shouting and dragging morning to her grave. Despair beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteOh that ending... the snake is really out now I think. The coming of Gilead with the fangs of a snake.
ReplyDeleteIt's hard for me to take in your work any more Shay and find words that can express how deeply amazing I find it, each poem more dazzling than the last. In this one I see despair delicately and exquisitely made into its most basic component parts: treachery, ill intent, transience, beauty ignored or unseen (or worse, wantonly destroyed,) and truth denied. And yet, and yet...so much shines here--not least the purity of honesty in each cold and concise realization. The whole piece is imminently quotable, but beyond each perfect stanza, I especially was struck by "...I sit at a table made of the world.." So many snakes coiled under that one right now... a brilliant write, Shay.
ReplyDeleteAn engrossing narrative, Shay, the imagery lush and rife with golden snakes of despair: I can hardly take it all in, that is, in one swallow, but re-reading, each time, the words draw out depths of visual music, depths of emotion. I don't know why, but I thought of David Lynch films, especially Twin Peaks. Brilliant writing, my friend. Wonderful to read.
ReplyDeleteWow, Shay, this one hits deep. "shouting and dragging morning to her grave" just wow. You know how to write it, friend.
ReplyDeleteThat is so good. Wow. Language so fresh and unexpected it could only be written by you. And the image - your own embroidery, your despair sewn into the world, striking with its dark venom.
ReplyDelete