Years ago
we four (the youngest)
stumbled wearily through a field
picking stones
to clear the way for new growth.
Blinding dust pierced only by the
scorching heat of a distant sun --
dust clinging to sweat in muddy rivulets.
and we suffered together
commiserating
Years later
each returned alone
to a similar field
to pick one last stone (something tasteful)
in which to carve a name to mark the dust
where we buried our dust
before it had time to grow.
Binding pain pierced only by the
searching ache of a distant hope --
rust clinging to tears in ruddy rivulets.
and we suffer alone
commiserating
The feelings are so on the surface in this, that it makes it feel personal to the reader. I also like how it looped around full circle. Blessings, Michelle
Very deeply felt emotions in this gem! the desert seems to be so much a part of lifes journey...
Reviewed by William Cryer (Reader)
Reviewed on March 7, 2008
Leo, I never had much luck with hermeneutics,so if it's all the same with you I'm gonna start insisting that you append a critical interpretation of the text with each poem. ;)
Otherwise the imagery, diction, and other techniques:
You have me bawling like a baby... or for a baby... four babies really. This one is a masterpiece! But oh... how thankful I am that along that row of three baby stones is another one watching o'er... if the fourth one had to be, at least it is there watching o'er.
This is so wonderful when read out loud... I'm sure the neighbors like it too! :-)
Excellent choice of words: "mark the dust", "rust clinging to tears", "commiserating" (such a beaitiful word at the heart of your poem). I also love the subtle use of repetitions in this one.
The songs and art in this book are about our collective emergence after the pandemic and trauma of the last few years - comprised of 5 collections: World as Refuge, Where We Live, In Our Hands, Rhythms of Change and What We See & Sow.
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Otherwise the imagery, diction, and other techniques:
Spiffy.
One of my favorites.
Cryssa
Ron
Be always safe,
Karen
to pick one last stone (something tasteful)
in which to carve a name to mark the dust
where we buried our dust
before it had time to grow.
and the contrast between the last two lines of each stanza
as well as the dust in the first and the rust in the second.
Evokes the experience of life(and death, which is part of it, like it or not.) - David
Excellent choice of words: "mark the dust", "rust clinging to tears", "commiserating" (such a beaitiful word at the heart of your poem). I also love the subtle use of repetitions in this one.
Axilea
stan