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Out One Noon
Out one noon on the old viaduct,
Speculating, skulking in the fog-shorn hills,
I see an elder woman, naked, hear her beneath my steps.
With every tree stands her freckled leg,
In each dale her spackling, ready feet,
Over her sunken shoulders hangs the whole sky.
She waits as firmly as the filled train track,
And roves to the ocean in a thousand new instances,
Brush and canopy and sluicing stream her endless confine.
I warm my hands in my new coat pockets.
Solemnly, staring.
And a second image comes.
An aunt, a great aunt, and hers, and not only those.
And friends who smoked and littered the days
With hope and frivolity.
A mother and father, maybe mine, smallest of all,
Rolled up in the big brown fold and cold waters that
Stretch, stretch, stretch,
But gathered here, toothsome, like an easy lunch.
Speculating, skulking in the fog-shorn hills,
I see an elder woman, naked, hear her beneath my steps.
With every tree stands her freckled leg,
In each dale her spackling, ready feet,
Over her sunken shoulders hangs the whole sky.
She waits as firmly as the filled train track,
And roves to the ocean in a thousand new instances,
Brush and canopy and sluicing stream her endless confine.
I warm my hands in my new coat pockets.
Solemnly, staring.
And a second image comes.
An aunt, a great aunt, and hers, and not only those.
And friends who smoked and littered the days
With hope and frivolity.
A mother and father, maybe mine, smallest of all,
Rolled up in the big brown fold and cold waters that
Stretch, stretch, stretch,
But gathered here, toothsome, like an easy lunch.
This kind of went over my head. If I'm reading right, the speaker is walking through a graveyard where the tombstones remind him of teeth. Though the first stanza had me in a mind of Mother Nature until later verses starting talking about additional women. A bit opaque, and the word choice heads that way as well—nicely and figuratively descriptive if not concrete—but it does crreate a good overall atmosphere.
Our strings are curled inside, yet we stand like beads
Running along centuries of clear mornings
Each a sparkling glint in rising sun
The songs they sang are now mine, and will be another's.
Running along centuries of clear mornings
Each a sparkling glint in rising sun
The songs they sang are now mine, and will be another's.
>>Pascoite
Thanks for your feedback, as usual! Hats off to (Groaning) Grey.
No, it's set on a viaduct, which is a train track overlooking a valley. There are two images, the first which seems to proceed by revelation, and could be called "Mother Nature". The second you might think of as the actual mothers--the kind you would have a more temporal relationship to.
Thanks for your feedback, as usual! Hats off to (Groaning) Grey.
No, it's set on a viaduct, which is a train track overlooking a valley. There are two images, the first which seems to proceed by revelation, and could be called "Mother Nature". The second you might think of as the actual mothers--the kind you would have a more temporal relationship to.