08-15-2016, 08:23 AM
Hey, this is pretty cool.
(08-14-2016, 03:06 PM)Southern Scarab Wrote: Porch light, and the leaves are monsoons -- Maybe be more specific by specifying what kind of leaves are blowing.I like a lot of the description in the poem. Not sure what you're after here, but I was a little confused at some points. That's really my main critique. Pretty interesting writing though. Good luck with it.
Black wood, and the crickets hard to catch
(one in the hand and a thousand in the bush)
Call me restless- rocking chair out of wooden tune
Knuckle blisters, with coffee grounds spilt from spoons
The bullfrogs- another chorus of sore throats
but the stoats, invisibly, slip between the wood-stocks -- I guess the stoats are in contrast to the frogs?
hiding from the tomcat and his bone-beds in back of sheds
Grandma's voice is a fork bent with whispers
a prayer to bed ridden aunty
they say she spoke to the hollow -- Is "she" aunty or grandma?
fewer tell how it spoke back
Still others say she chewed cloves
that when the locusts arrived bringing summer fall -- Would avoid inversion with "summer fall." Plus, summer fall is redundant. "bringing summer" would mean the same thing right?
her and hers were the first to drop plow
to haunt the creek where the Devil's herd stopped to drink
so that the cliff hidden pond where the foxes bury buck skulls
became their southern scholomance
a lightning bug disco where the Devil would dance
to hear it told- under cloak and on haystacks of hair
with the voice of screaming, bolting mares.
In the morning, tight faced from cold
I was sleepily sweeping cicada shells from the porch
hundreds of them, flaking into chaffy pollen -- Like this description
fever-struck!
I thought I heard a crow call my name
In my dream I see a blackberry bush
sprouting through the spokes of a forgotten bicycle
and then torn from it's roots and ridden, berries and all
by children with camouflage faces
across crumbling parking lots
I hear those wicked wheels ringing like sniper shells every so often
strangest of all, because the bush does not die

