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Rock a Bide Woman (((((Pound))))) Down to the rock marble of my bones, I feel it; the concussion, the slam of the cut. It echo’s in my gut; A vibration of intention, Some savage sequence, A chipping search for What exists beneath. No history, No memory Defines me. I am as yet not. (((((Pound))))) What exists within Finds release in The cast off shards of Broken evidence. Isolated from light, I wait. In state Of grace with form, Carved, perfection’s statement Beneath tiers of time, Thick onion layers of skinned emotion, Smooth sedations of toil Diffuse the crying oil. (((((Pound))))) But what good are tears When the stone encasing Fears, binds freedom, When the bead of cleansing Saline is not checked by friction And rivers the marble planes Forging stains Fugitive and futile. Who is the defender of the faithful, Grateful for the isolation Of being one with me. ((((((Pound))))) It strikes again, and yet I stand An immutable maquette, A mock of flesh Frozen by eons Of past choices, depression by compression. Muffled words between the hits Make no sense. They fall upon Carrara ears, undefined and undefiled, A fusion of sound to sonic sense. I feel the falling chips And check . Is it vibration or vacillation Oh that it would speed Or fly. (((((Pound))))) Who flays the detritus From this bound body. What chaos of freedom Is swaddled in the stone In my wombed tomb Safe and secure as In that mothering place. Who would mind or care if I bide in black Bloat one more day, Hide, simply hide One more day (((((Pound))))) Birth, So bloody painful, To guarantee the death of innocence. There’s no where to go, So I wait within the silence In the darkness, Rigid in the darkness, Expectant In the darkness, Counting the consequences Of time. (((((Pound))))) |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Marcia McCaslin On Date: 2004-05-04 15:05:02
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.98000
Hi Lynda--I saw this poem some while ago, but had so many other things I was trying
to do--we all know how that is. Last I looked, it was really doing well on the
poem contest. I hope it continues.
This is impactful, to say the least. Your ((((Pound))))) just grabs our attention
and we feel this piece as much as we read it. But then the in-between parts or
so soft/hard, contemplative/non-contemplative that you have made me almost feel
like I'm there. Heaven forbid.
Down to the rock marble of my bones,
There is also (IMO) some very skillful writing going on here, besides the most creative idea of
it all.
Some savage sequence,
A chipping search for
What exists beneath.
No history,
No memory
Defines me.
I am as yet not.
The staccato sentences add to the pain/sharpness/searching aspect.
The cast off shards of
Broken evidence.
Yes--this is one way of saying it!
Thick onion layers of skinned emotion,
Smooth sedations of toil
Diffuse the crying oil.
I particularly like the "onion layers".
In my wombed tomb
Love the inner rhyme here--almost a touch of humor, although it is not a humorous piece.
Birth,
So bloody painful,
To guarantee the death of innocence.
guaranteeing the death of innocence. Isn't that the truth! There are so many things
in the natural order of this universe that guarantee the outcome, but this is stated
in a particularly captivating way.
Counting the consequences
Of time.
Excellent ending---leaves us still in a state of expectancy, but cleverly done. Thanks
for a carefully written piece. Good luck to you in the contest. Marcia