This Poem was Submitted By: Medard Louis Lefevre Jr. On Date: 2005-06-15 16:13:49 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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The Bones of the Dead

I see light, I feel love I hear the voices of children well fed But on these streets I am alone All that is left are the bones of the dead Once there was laughter, tears, and hope Of a mundane and banal existence Now only memories blow before me The forgotten exiles offer no resistance I smell fear, I envision the dreams I hear the people and the words that they said But on these streets even the ghosts are lost All that is left are the bones of the dead Once there were visions of a bright tomorrow Today their vacuum sucks life from yesterday I walk through this town without any purpose If anything was important, it has gone away I touch the buildings, I visit the graves Buried in both is the incubus I dread Someday my town will be wasted in this void All that will be left are the bones of the dead

Copyright © June 2005 Medard Louis Lefevre Jr.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2005-06-22 16:07:14
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.48837
Medard, Whoa, this knocks my socks off, each verse neatly leading the reader into the next wanting more, wanting to fush ahead to see where you are taking them but not wanting to miss a line. Very powerful, excellant rhythmn and easy to read. This is definately a different although very real look at the turns and cycles of ones life, would any of us be at a point that we would contimplate our own existance honestly and truthfully. You have laid bare that which is you, a deep hopefully healing journey. Thank you for the honor of allowing us to read this. Lora

This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2005-06-20 04:30:00
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.93182
Title.... The Bones of the Dead.....captures your thoughts, holds on, and draws you in for the read......good structure, word flow filled with images of what was once, what is now, the deep emptiness of this place, the sadness felt and the knowledge of things to come to other cities and towns you may call home. You could be speaking of many places that recently endured disasters, wars, famine, even with the sound of happy children, well fed, this may not always have been true......this poem is filled with so much sadness and loss poet, thank you for posting and sharing with us. ..........would it not be nice if someday we all could learn a lesson of what happens when things are in control of others and perhaps not allow it to happen could even be speaking of sickness for it too can destroy entire cities and towns which it did years ago with plagues........God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mandie J Overocker On Date: 2005-06-19 18:04:36
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Wow...what an incredible piece of writing. I see so many different angles that the reader can go with this writing. Whether it is viewing a ghost town, or a decaying soul in a battered body. You have very artfully portrayed for me the image of one who is reflecting on a history of a life the author qquestions as meaningfull or meaningless. The image of the 'bones of the dead' is a very stark image and draws my attention immediately. I like how each line flows into the next, each stanza to the next. It seems seamless, and structured so well, that the rhymes flow effortlessly. Great work poet. Thank youf for sharing this one. it is a good one! Mandie
This Poem was Critiqued By: Donna Carter Soles On Date: 2005-06-17 01:13:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.50000
Hello Medard, This poem made quite an introduction because it started off as being somewhat optimistic, but then quickly slipped into something much darker. I'm thinking that you are actually a 'ghost', or you are not a ghost but are seeing things before they happen. You just conveyed this eerie feeling of being alone: "But on these streets I am alone." This seems to be happening, despite everything else that you say. It could be that you simply want things to be better, but it's certainly not turning out that way; therefore, you are engulfed in your own form of loneliness. I especially like the third stanza in which you said: "But on these streets even the ghosts are lost." This gives me an extreme loss of hope and all that may matter, and it's not that I may wish for this. I'm just simply pointing out how well you stressed your subject matter. I quess that everything is so far gone that even the ghosts do not know what place to call home...or even worse. I also noticed that you used the word 'incubus' in this poem which represents a 'demon'...and oh, we all have those (if willing to admit) and I suspect this is the particular one that has been haunting you. The words 'dead', 'dead', 'dread' and 'dead' have well-formed the ominious connotations of life verses death. Thanks for sharing such a thought-provoking poem, and keep on writing. Donna
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2005-06-16 17:19:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.77778
Hi Medard, I just did a critique of this poem, hit the wrong key and zapped it! Will try again. I must admit I can't stop reading this poem. It is very compelling with a mystic that I find exciting and at the same time gut wrenching. I really enjoy the rhyme scheme you have used as it flows from one line to the other without being forced or words used just for the sake of the rhyme. The poet sees the good....he sees the light, hears the laughter and feels the love but the town is dead to him. It is mundane, morose, depressing, and defies everything he believes in....'all that is left are the bones of the dead' the repetition of this line is very effective here...captures the mood of the poem without being verbose. 'But on these streets even the ghosts are lost' does not think of a ghost as being lost....I am not being flippant but to me ghosts seem to be all enccompassing without rules or boundries so one can't imagine that they would lose their way.....'once there were visions of a bright their vacum sucks life from yesterday' here I begin to wonder if the poet is actually visiting a ghost town...I have been to some and they are full of broken memories and stories untold...stories we know are there but unable to extract them. However, I don't think that is the case here because the poet can touch buildings not just wasted and dirt encased this town is more like death which the poet knows he will face someday...'buried in both is the incubus (love the words incubus & succbus but never find a place to use them)..I dread someday my town will be wasted in this void..all that will be left are the bones of the dead'....sad but true. This is a well written and amazing poem...Im sure it will rate very high on the winners list. Pecae...Marilyn
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-06-16 14:54:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.27273
Oh my. This is the second poem I've recently read that envisions nothing but doom and gloom. But I was wondering how you could feel love amongst all that blackness? You hear the voices of the children well fed, yet in the next stanza this is a contradiction that there is a mundane banal existence for are like the living dead....scary! Is this Voodoo inspired? You laid it out well from verse to verse. I was intrigued but disheartened when you offered no possible solution...I love movies with happy endings. This doesn't have one. The rhyming schemata works well with good flow and energy.Thanks for this (I think!)> P.S.: Here is my own little quirk on titles. I do not like to use a title those that I have already used in the poem. Think about it. It's something I learned at a poetry conference.
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