Fractured Light Through Stained Glass Window.

September 29, 2008 at 7:00 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 13 Comments
Tags: death, poetry

it is afterall the last taboo
death spoken of in euphemisms
and some do softly pass
others rage and fight
and leave dark bruises on my arm
my dear that faded over days
into the yellow of your bile
i begged them let her go
it’s the destiny she chose
she blames me now but i

don’t worry son the copper said
we’ve heard it all before
them dying will say anything but
it’s them that broke God’s law

the fire lit around her feet
and then a mighty roar

13 Comments »

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I walked into an all things weird and twinkly shop yesterday in the Lanes and there was a Witch’s Bible in a black cover. I’m still pondering that.

Your poem is slick, dark and sets a feeling of depressive resignation. The ending, of course, is perfect for extending the reader’s mind beyond the moment.

(I once got a clip around the ear – literally – for calling a policeman a copper in front of my dad, who was an ex-copper himself (ha!). I never did really know why.)

Comment by Mary P— September 29, 2008 #
and the executions continue

Comment by ozymandiaz— September 29, 2008 #
and some do softly pass
others rage and fight

How true, how true

Comment by Sumedh— September 30, 2008 #
let the burning begin in this morbid darkness, the flames will lick at your wound and soul

Comment by aefiel— September 30, 2008 #
you always give me so much to think about and feel about

the yellow bile bruise move is masterful and the way you bring in “my arm” –my mind wants to stay abstract but it gets real and physical and there is the bruise to prove it

Comment by artpredator— September 30, 2008 #
loved this! this warm, familiar voice…

Comment by hayat— September 30, 2008 #
a glide thru dying to a witness ending, with accent hues and foggish smoke, stunning chiaroscuro noir piece

Comment by tipota— September 30, 2008 #
I just love the last two lines, and the way the whole poem conveys the paradoxes of dying, one way or the other.

Comment by The Querulous Squirrel— September 30, 2008 #
I like to think of life as a marathon … and indeed, not all of us are marathon runners. Not all of us will be able to endure the journey fully. No, some of us will collapse … on the side of the road … breath escaping us ….

But not just yet.

Comment by Fitch— September 30, 2008 #
I love the ‘fire lit around her feet’ line, brilliant!

Comment by Queen of the Universe— October 1, 2008 #
Thanks everybody. The adventure continues. “There is no last word just as there was no first.”

Comment by Paul— October 1, 2008 #
excellent, as always, I especially love the title and what it means in terms of the poem.

Comment by harmonie22— October 3, 2008 #
Rage, Rage against the dying of the light!!!

Comment by nectarfizz— October 5, 2008 #