I was a poet
lonelier than my words left unread,
left like a mudded coin of sunshine
in the grubby gutter of downtown,
in the alleys of my verses.
I was as lonely as poetry
in the putrefaction of slaughterhouses
in no way out, mazes of these markets:
souls for auction,
worms, whirling in all directions:
conscience, teeth, grins, grains of greed,
and ladings of goods.
I was lonely
like Jesus in the alleys of lashes,
lashes of walls, fences
whirling like serpents
on the body of our togetherness
on the back of
like a black swan
whose doves of whiteness
were ensnared in the molted tart of
I was lonely like a dark bondsman
who laments his torments
through the saxophone of his emancipated souls.
I was lonely like tenderness and love
in the muddles of a who-rehouse,
like an innocent lamb
in the slaughterhouse of people's heart.
And my thirst for something fair
boiled an burned
in a moaning kettle, like a buzzing gadfly,
tussling to death
of people's convictions.
I read and re-read and coming to terms with understanding it.
Liked your choice of words and the way you have made the vivid
imagery to capture the reader's imagination. There are some poems where
the poem is written more for the poet then for the readers...this is one of them!
Frank, I have read this piece a couple of times and I cannot find the words to properly describe how blown away I am. I love the title I think 'parching' is adequately justified in the body of the poem. The loneliness you speak of is so poetically woven into an alley of words in itself. The last stanza is just amazing! It carries much weight and really leaves the reader feeling it.
I wish I had a nomination left as this deserves another front page to me!
Thank you so much. I liked this piece and was kind of heartbreaking when no one even looked at it for about two days. Not that I am not used to be ignored, but nowadays that my works are not, I was wondering maybe because it is too personal to me that I can not see the flaw. That is why I asked you.