|Monument In The Sea
Small boy stood where a rock on the beach held to the tidal flood.
True was his aim as each pebble he threw dashed on another, sticking like glue.
Steering a path up out of the sea, each clung to the other like limpet on brother.
By five his pile was so beautifully high, so perfectly covering southerly skies
that the people on shore who were cultural bores said it closely resembled
a sculpture by Moore. Each was convinced even more it was so
when the youth hurled a rock which created a hole: so smooth and round
that its wind whistling sound played far away over old seamen's graves.
Sailors emerged on the deck of a ship. One hurled his hat
through the sea salted air where it landed on top of the sculpture out there.
"Lets call it a tribute to those lost at sea." People applauded and went home for tea.
In dead of the night all pebbles fell down. Hat sailed away and never was found.
22 Jul 06
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So it was never found so what. Just another mirror to lifes futility
but so descriptive of futility!
The futility of the persona is a creation of the reader thereby irrelevant as is the mirror - made up.
There is no small boy, shore people, sailors and old sea men - they all belong to the over active realms of the reader's imagination. Shame on you.
Brilliant! I think that if you had not tried to rhyme everything it would have been even better. Love it though, its good to read something differently themed.
comprehensive changes made to lines - thanks cc.
I figure if you can write a good poem about futility then you have reached the point of aethsetic emptiness and i'm still trying
Larry weighed down by physical form lark
I remember being made up when a brought a Magic Magritte mirror which reversed the reversals exept it still portrayed reasonably accurately my disgusting physical appearance.
Larry big conk Lark
Is that why many people have water on the brain?
Larry yoh oh oh Lark
He stood where rocks on the beach held to tidal flood, his aim
true: Each pebble he threw dashed one to the other, sticking like glue,
steering a path to sea. Each clung to the other, a limpet brother.
By five, his pile covered southern skies, and drew shore people
who said it resembled Moore's sculpture. Each one was convinced moreso
when the youth hurled another rock and created a hole so smooth and round
it drew the wind whistling from seamen's graves. And at sea
sailors were pulled to the deck of their ship, where one man hurled his hat
through salt air to land where the pebbles flew. "A tribute," he said,
"to those of us lost." Stones carried his words to shore, where people
applauded and went home for tea. That night the pebbles fell
and the sailor's hat was never was found.
A word of advice larry - much as I love her, consign her version to the bin for the following reasons:- a) she uses the word 'moreso' in her version b) she includes speechmarks in her version and c) her clumsy attempts at enjambement detract from the lovely, free flowing wavelike rhythm you've got going on here.
A well wisher
The above comment refers to Diana trees new version of course.
your version is class, dianatrees one is not. Its your poem.
thanks for the time and trouble .I will read both versions down the sea mans mission and see which one gets the biggest yoh oh oh.
Larry barnacle Lark