Sunday, November 16, 2003
Our Latest Entry!
The witty and sophisticated Gimmy G‘s contest inspired me to write the following poem, based on this picture. Since I never have anything to say anyway, I figured I’d just dump that poem on you instead of writing anything new. You can handle it. More fresh stuff on the way soon.
The wind blows steady on this hill,
the sun less constant than the fog;
the earth resists the hands of men
and crushes the ideologue.
The road they built has come to crumble;
trees loom like a serpent’s head -
their darkness sweeping ominously,
shadowing the land with dread.
Hills too steep to hold a harvest;
fog too thick to sprout a seed;
my duties called me here sometimes,
and, other times, I felt the need
for silent solitude whereat
to settle on a line of thought;
I found this land accommodating
when my mind was overwrought
these misty acres would abide me,
I could find some comfort here
among the black and twisted trunks
and hillsides stubblegrown and sere.
A quiet place to take my troubles,
undertake what need be done;
and when transgressions are upon me,
times I can’t endure the sun -
for all those days, and they are many,
when I reject the light of day
a little shack stands hunkered down
where I can put myself away.
No windows, faceless, lichens growing
on the asphalt tiled roof;
I slip inside and lock the door
(it never was if there’s no proof).
O little shack beneath the cypress,
when my prayers can’t be prayed –
I hide my horrors in your cloister,
grow my shadows in your shade.
