|Remembering The Dead
The dead fly round and round our heads.
In bed at night we steady our hands, try to catch them
in the silver fishing nets of dreams,
but they are illusive, scheming, tricky,
do not wish to return to a sticky wicket,
or explain why they avoid our bait,
reeling in their new found freedoms
while laughing at our fate.
They have no desire to tell us why they left,
or apologise for grief they caused. For their state
like any earthly one, knows neither deft rhyme
or the logic of reason.
We can only catch occasional whispers
teased out of a barely stirring wind
which like most conversations
of the living here on earth, will have little worth,
just hot air, part of the stream babbling
between birth and death. If only they could sing,
then would our dreams not resonate
with the chimes of heaven?
31 Dec 07
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who knows, which way the bluebottle goes
larry the wasp lark
I love this. It's very visual and atmospheric. I like the whole premise of it. Lines 18-20 are particularly beautiful and haunting.
The internal rhymes throughout give the whole poem cohesion and movement, ( lines 1-2 and lines 4-5 ).
Line 4 elusive!
Line 7 it slightly unravels for me here in terms of the sense. Reeling in conjures up an image of constraint, but who is doing the constraining? Did you mean revelling in? I don't know, it's not quite clear to me who's doing what.....
This is pretty perfect as it is as you convey the haunting, speculative tone so well. I love the final stanza, culminating in the beautiful final question.
I'm a bit disappointed. The poems substance, it seems, is sourced by a desire to explain death, and our personal responses in dealing with the dead.
"Silver fishing nets of dreams" ---while I cannot connect this image to any specific dream reference, it feels like vague and cliche. Why silver? Also, the characterization of the dead seems a bit silly. The descriptors "illusive, scheming, tricky," are telly. Why not show this somehow? Do we see these characters in a dream state, laughing. "Which" dead are we talking about? Certainly all dead don't act alike?
"Teased out...barely stirring wind." Another abstraction, which, when thought about, is also a cliche. The wind speaking to us. Is there another image, more original, that could describe this "pseudo cross-medium" communication?
The last stanza, including the "chimes of heaven" reference, is boring and also cliche. I'm sorry this is harsh, but I like some of your other stuff.
you leave me smiling at the beginning and i begin with a feeling of warmth at the end. but you keep all of that in balance, never unbalanced.
very good work. does take much skill to do that. does indeed.
good use of the The. thou a good mark and move.
sometimes we write when we are written out but i guess its better than nothing, being part of a total process.
Larry same old shit Lark
Thanks for taking the time.