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Colombo day For a start, it’s not the Colombo we knew: fat And greasy with deals we never dreamt of. That Is the world I wake to. The poor make obeisance Before their dream that maybe, today, by chance By a shifting of the scullions of Domain They might become entire, liberated to a man, That they may dream no more. What a lovely thought: For all my pennies, I’d have no sooner bought Any other than that. Still, I wake and make a feast Of that face within that frame that, at the least, At morning sates me for the day ahead, The day of blustering, of anger and of dread That is, whether miniscule or large, the lot Of all those whom Enlightenment forgot When it said it made its home here. My fear, Which is compounded by everything I hear, Is that we thought it’s work was done when Once It Spoke To backpacked Westerners and local folk. But could they hear it? Could they last a day Without returning to the things they put away? And I don’t mean the vomit of dogs, or sin But loved things, the things we love most in Each other, the things that turn all I sight To tender spears that point to all that’s right. But if they could, if they could hear it once Perhaps they’d feel as I do through the months, That all this greasy squabbling is a waste Of hours, weeks and decades, that the taste Of freedom which they say they’ve never known Is by their bed, and waits for them at home. So I don’t care for Colombo any more Or its evening breezes that lead me by the shore, I just don’t care. No, not for this or any other town: Except that all I look upon returns my frown And so turns me back again upon my heart Where lies your framéd smile, where all days start And end. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2004-10-23 16:13:09
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.56000
Hi Mark,
This is a haunting piece and full of truisms. I have lost count of how many times
I have read it and each time I experience a new emotion. The one truth that is
outstanding to me is that you begin an end your days with that framed face in the photo.
Her image sustains you through your days that are full of blustering, anger and dread.
It would be my hope that you wrote those words just for the impact and not because that
picture is the one and only thing that sustains you. To me the impact of the words are
powerful. Could we last a day without returning to the things we put away..the things we
love most especially in each other? Maybe not but I am a hopeless romantic so I hope so.
...'greasy squabbling is a waste'..what a true statement that is..then it poses the
question..why do we do it?...'the taste of freedom which they say they have never known,
is by their bed and waits for them at home'...I love that thought. One wonders why we
humans always look beyond what is right in front of us...probably because we think what
we have is not good enough...surely someone else has better..so we search....'turns me
back again upon my heart where lies your framed smile where all days start...and end.'
And so after all my rambling the one thing I know is that you can peer into that framed
smile and find peace. This is a magnificent poem and will go at the top of my list this
month. How is your book coming? Glad to see you took time away from it to give us this
wonderful piece of writing.
Peace...Marilyn