Tuesday, June 8, 2010

The Unknown


I walk along the unimproved roads .  .. a puddle gleams,
a child's bike
frozen in a dropped state,
neglected gardens as
posers denied the elegance
of a mansion, dreamed .. .. .. as
birds are reflected on the windshields of cars
sitting rusty and broken.. .. .. and
tall sentinels,
shadowy trees, scratch the belly of the sky while
the painful clouds stretch low
seeking deformation.. .. ..
a sigh
a breath of a wind blows small white petals
scattering them
at the gnarled feet of shrubs.. .. ..
and the hunch-backed crow
complains to me
as I walk along a mossy stone wall
holding back the meandering trekker
creeping along the backbone
of the road,
weary of that crow's vocals
compressing the air within its range,
she sits on the wire
flitting and wobbling,
black marble eyes shine in the waning light
gleam like a live coal from within the living beast.. .. ..

---I have held you
I have spread your wings
and the winds ruffled your ebony feathers.. .. ..
I have touched your sharp beak
with my cold lips,
your voice stretched and hollow,
your claws scrabbling to catch hold,
your inner fires pound at your chest
you breath---

the strict walls hold me back
with an airlessness of a vacuum
designed for hollow space
a membrane, a shell as thin as a microbe,
designs undiminished by time
or rumpled by the toe of my boot
as I scrape it on the dirt of the old road
drawing lines
going nowhere
a cat flits by
stops to gaze at me from beneath a leaf
and a crow watches a story unfold. . .

--I have held you
I have clipped your wings
and your cry was not diminished
by the colors beneath
the swirling skirt of approaching night
you have heard my song
and you see it as the neon beam
reflected in your mirrors
and your stillness disconcerts me
as I whisper something into your stygian belly--

the road heaves beneath my wary feet
and I am as slow and lethargic
as a reluctant mist moving across a landscape,
I float like down pushed slowly by a wispy breeze
and the silent hum of insects drown my thoughts
as the divagation of this lost road strums at my soul.. .. ..
A weary crow stands at the crossroads drinking from  a puddle . .
muddy waters dripping like tears from a black beak
join forces in a group of waters

--I have held you
as you wept for all your loss
I have touched your breast
and felt your heart beat
I have tasted your fires and
I have whispered my secrets to you,
I have fed your desires--

The walls create ceremony beneath their ambiguity
denied straightness, repellent of light
they refuse honesty
and crooked against the wayward road
they split their ways
at the gate with no welcome
where the darkness puddles
beneath the spikes of cast iron
and a delicate green vine
splits the blackness
into fractions of time.. .. ..
a crow with a broken wing
pecks at the heart of something
by the side of the road. . .

--I have held you
I have touched your tears
and felt the weariness of your soul
I have spread your wings
lifting you high
to glide on cold currents and
you slide through to the early light
of the morning's clarion call
I see you fly
splitting the air with you voice--

I plod along the unimproved road
and see an end,
I hear distant laughter
and the breeze ruffles through feathers
as black as hell,
and as smooth
as the lies of a fallen angel .. .. ..
deep in the bottomless  wells
harshly riddled with lost time
and a gate pushes through them
leading to a place where fires burn
without consuming, hungerless . . ..yet destructive
where a crow, alone, guardian of my dreams . . .

--I have held you
I have felt your bones
and I have set you free to wander
yet you came back to me
and you called my name . . .
I followed you through a gate
splicing time
through that rough wall
and you chose the pathway
when it split off from
that unimproved road. . .

I continue on, slowly trudging . . .
and the crow called my name
into the wind. . .
where the sound of her voice
faded into the unknown
and became as lost as I.


I am actually going to explain this poem . . . to the extent that all the main characters which appear in it . . . are me.
I am the trekker, the unimproved road, the old stone wall, the gate and I am the crow . . . that is all..dreams are often thus, explanations of ourselves . . . to ourselves.

This poem is dedicated to Cv?vC just because he loves the dark and edgy in life . . . and he is so very encouraging . . . 

Just a little addition regarding the crow in the poem . . .  I originally wanted to describe my wanderings through the unimproved roads on which I meander in my walks (there are so many of them) and of course the poem turned into something so different and became a deviation through the unimproved roads of my soul . . .  but I also wanted to describe a particular crow in my walks who took a strong dislike towards me . . .  every morning for several weeks I would see her . . . she would fly to a certain perch and scold me strongly about something . . . I would look at her and give her a greeting and a smile and she would scream more fiercely in her language . . . Eventually she took to attacking me . . . swooping down over and over grabbing at my head, my hair would fly up to meet her as her wings displaced the air over my head . . . other people could be around and she would ignore them so I know it was me that she had a hatred for - something . . . if crows hate . . . but they are considered the more intelligent of the birds, so it is possible that she had a dislike for me.  After I wrote my poem I saw her once more . . ..  and that was it . . . a violent attack at my head . . . and since then I haven't seen her at all . . . it feels like it means something profound . . . I am not sure what . ..  , BUT I do miss her .. .. .. I do!  

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