Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Among the Ruins

The crowbar fell across the wide lip bowl.
Something shattered when we got the call,
Clara Gregory has hung herself, poor soul.

A heft of dolorite too large to roll,
is sweated to a place up in the wall.
I dropped the crowbar on our wide lip bowl.

A much anticipated week unfolds:
Seth & Emily fly in to rest away from city sprawl.
Clara Gregory has hung herself, poor soul.

A native hen turns from her haste across the road
alarmed by the chick which flaps and flutters where it falls.
A crowbar fell across the wide lip bowl.

So swift afoot, so rarely road-kill toll.
Emily half turns a stifled cry, appalled.
Clara Gregory has hung herself, poor soul.

A broken wounded world cannot, thank God, forestall
embrace of friend & family though shadowed by the Fall.
A crowbar fell across the wide lip bowl.
Clara Gregory has hung herself, poor soul.

3 comments:

Inconsequential said...

nice villanelle :)

proper structure...one day, i'll have a proper go at structure...

Good words Ish.

Thanks for the prayers, though a disbeliever, the thought behind the deed is what really matters :)

Mike Mc said...

Good storytelling makes good poetry, good job.

ish said...

Inc., this is my second go at a villanelle. Get the right two repeating lines and there is something of a buzz in seeing what else can fit. It's a relief to 'see' you back in your old form.

Mike, thanks for picking up on the element of story in this one. I notice a lot of narrative in your poems, and I can see you're right.