The Procession of Tombs (poem) by Keith Rowley on AuthorsDen

The Procession of Tombs
by Keith Rowley → (All Poetry by Keith Rowley)
Not rated by the Author.

Save

Upon reading my poem 'Howl Dog!', Stan Law, one of my valued readers (I value you all), said that he would be interested in the outcome were I to turn my mind to something a little less laden with despair and anger. That was a tough call, as of choice, I positively wallow in the darker side of existence. But I had to try! As the great Robert Plant once said before performing 'Stairway to Heaven', "This is a Song of Hope." At least, it's as near as my darkened heart will permit me to approach the light. Stan, this one's for you mate.
Wreathed in the shadow-glow of eldritch light The tombs of men glide forth in time Borne upon a poisoned stream of death and blight And life itself lacks reason and a rhyme What cargoes bear these stony carriages of death? The thoughts of men all snared by silvered stars sublime Tormented echoes of a million dying breaths And still life has no reason and no rhyme Hush! Rest quiet now within thy tomb Within thy withered breast the dawn doth softly chime For death is but the entrance to the womb But life has yet no reason and no rhyme Hear the hiss and kiss of ice against the clinking stone Gentle waves of darkness weave your sorrowed rhyme Quicken now oh man! and for thy sins atone But know, life has no reason and no rhyme The stream now darkens into blood Like logs the stony tombs do float and clash amid the slime The sea of death approaches like a flood See, death itself has neither reason nor a rhyme Wider, ever wider flow the waters of the dead Chill stony tombs are plucked like grapes from hell’s own vine Quickened now as dawn approaches comes thy breath So death has breath if neither reason nor a rhyme Fly now to quickened egg within the womb Hear softly how thy mother’s breath doth mime The gentle breeze suffused with winters’ doom Seek earnestly thy reason and thy rhyme Burst forth upon the world renewed Make good the ills of life now buried all in lime Love well, all cruelty eschew Live joyously thy reason and thy rhyme

Reviewed by David Clure

Reviewed on August 7, 2012

Death is swallowed up in victory! You have succeeded in penning a very hopeful, stirring ode to Purpose being revealed out of apparent Chaos, and I just love this poem Keith. I ENJOY the cadence, and the provocative illustrations and personifications. This one's a keeper for sure!

`Z.B.McClure

Reviewed by Dawn Anderson

Reviewed on December 1, 2008

You have a style of writing that is very different...it sets you apart...and I like it very much. It's as though someone discovered works from the past.

Reviewed by J'nia Fowler

Reviewed on November 16, 2008

Yes! yes! yes!. All is not lost when we choose to cling to hope, the solid rock anchors us. Very Poeish. Liked it a lot.
J'nia Fowler

Reviewed by A Serviceable Villain

Reviewed on October 21, 2008

Keith,

Title and verse are exceptionally penned . . .!!

Best regards,

Lance

Reviewed by Shedding Light

Reviewed on October 6, 2008

This is a very unique and interesting piece of work. I really the originality in this piece.

Harold M. Nash

Reviewed by Axilea MU

Reviewed on October 5, 2008

I think that this works because you found he right dimension and the precise anchorage to introduce the change. That of hope for a better life, the possibility of choosing at one point. A coherent, very fitting style Keith.

Axilea

Reviewed by Chantilly Lace (Reader)

Wowww,outstanding....great writing sweet man...wowwwwwwwwww...have a wonderful and safe day ...Hugsssss

Reviewed by Sheila Roy

Reviewed on October 4, 2008

Keith,
As ever, you fascinate. Maybe my perspective is skewed by the books I've read recently, but this poem makes me think of treasures found after centuries. Lives lived, exposed by a trowel. Strong tone to this poem - like a voice from the past.
Sheila

Reviewed by George Carroll

Reviewed on October 3, 2008

There was hope in the last stanza. Poe would have loved this poem.

Reviewed by Regis Auffray

Reviewed on October 2, 2008

Burst forth upon the world renewed
Make good the ills of life now buried all in lime
Love well, all cruelty eschew
Live joyously thy reason and thy rhyme

Seems to me like a fine recipe for living in this world, Keith. Thank you. Love and peace to you,

Regis

Reviewed by La Belle Rouge Poetess Of The Heart

Keith this is impressive work, unique and oh so compelling. The spell you weave is a powerful one and the ambience you create is tangible.

Reviewed by JASMIN HORST SEILER

Life might not have many reasons or rhyme, your poetry on the other hand, takes a reason and rhyme to another level, a bitter pill, but suffused in the nectar of searching..... still, and wonderment, and that of course is the tease, and I dare to say the spice of life, carry on Master of the dark art, your spark of light shone brightly upon it, and exposed its depths, and brilliance for just a most exhilarating moment. As always I enjoyed every ensues searching touch of your foundlings in the dark.
Blessings my friend! Jasmin Horst

Reviewed by Stan Law (aka Stanislaw Kapuscinski)

As a scholar and a gentleman you evidently know that flattery will always get you a quick response. I hope you won�t regret it!

The Procession of Tombs, would make Iago proud. Brilliant. I�m glad you finally chose joyful life, though I�m not quite sure just how sincere you were. You sound reminiscent of your previous incarnation as Arrigo Boito? He (you) must have grinned broadly, (or had you sneered) when you wrote:

Credo in un Dio crudel che m'ha creato simile a s� e che nell'ira io nomo. Della vilt� d'un germe o d'un atomo��vile son nato. Son scellerato� And later�
Credo che il giusto � un istrion beffardo, e nel viso e nel cuor, che tutto � in lui bugiardo: lagrima, bacio, sguardo, sacrificio ed onor� And finally�
E credo l'uom gioco d'iniqua sorte dal germe della culla al verme dell'avel. Vien dopo tanta irrision la Morte.
E poi? E poi? La Morte e il Nulla. � vechic fola il Ciel.

(I might have made some errors in my Italian. Regrettably, the English version does not carry the same piquancy). If you can read it, you are the only man I know who could turn Arrigo�s venom into your inimitable verse. It would be quite fascinating to read your version. I�m sure Joe Green wouldn�t mind.

On the other hand, you might satisfy your demons by turning their inspiration to black humour. I think you could make us all scream (with pleasure?)

I repeat, brilliant, Kafkaesque, hypnotic, and� keep trying (to choose life, I mean).

Thanks, Stan