But there is no ivory tower:
elephants are almost exctinct now!
I sit by the dirty pond and wonder
how you solved the equation of finding
a legitimate place to hide.
You bought your own protection
and you won’t be seen in the muddy crowd
whose flow is oh so disturbing,
whose noise is a burning injection
in a system of broken china:
it shakes and cuts those nerves.
Now, against the red blood,
a pity there is no ivory tower
and yet your art is
deceitful enough;
towering
illusion.
Middle of your latent night,
our lights vary in intensity, quality,
warmth, until you run for cover
hands manucured, patent shoes;
but when we find the right intensity
and there is focus in our thoughts,
you are but a deer in the headlight,
emotionally plastered, my dear.
Whether predator or prey, it's all in the timing. A chilling synopsis of how, at the end of the day, there will be no ivory tower to protect those perfect, bleached cuticles from the full spotlight of karma or to cleanse them from stains of blood-guilt. Intense! xx
Axilea, I'll hitchkike on Mr. Flanagan's review because
I agree with it and could not say it as well. Oh, I will
add this: Love the last four lines. -gene.
For me, Axilea, the bite of satire (humour), certainly
no haha here, and poacher as plagiarist; there is, too,
a sense of elitism, cultivated self-protection, which the writer
and those who see well 'see through'
and that final line, a smack in the gob.
John
Reviewed by Peter Schlosser (Reader)
Reviewed on March 21, 2011
i was just watching a show on this sort of thing the other day. extremely tragic. when i was a little boy, my grandmother read me this babar the elephant book where one of the elephants is shot dead by a poacher and i remember weeping for days about it. of course, this poem doesn't only apply in the literal sense and there is the message within the message within the message...well done.
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I agree with it and could not say it as well. Oh, I will
add this: Love the last four lines. -gene.
fee
Christine
Humorous insights and also seriously felt pain.
Be well,
Christine
God bless,
Lew
no haha here, and poacher as plagiarist; there is, too,
a sense of elitism, cultivated self-protection, which the writer
and those who see well 'see through'
and that final line, a smack in the gob.
John
Regis