Gardens echo approachers
Sellers of squash seeds and thymes
Trollers of dirt roads to bleach-whitened she-town
Now pluck, tune and strum her taut laundry lines
Till she resonates out in her groves, dells and downs
Knock loose that dust, that fresh cedar smell
Smooth her neck with the cup of your palm, then
Resonate, ciliate the sense on our drums,
Pass o'er her pastures, you fingers and thumbs,
Bootleathern, healers, brushers of stealth-strings
Sneak to her, rescue from chilled retinue
Disquiet her nerve-rooted enamel houses
Her cold posts, winter lamps, and choral white porches
Vibrate those ivories, from placards to gums, and,
Picking out fruit-flowers of things yet to come,
Sing warm songs from elbows, given words by our sons
And dance future daughters in one-two's and three-fours!
'Nowned coolness 'verberates dappled by sun
While we major in C-sharp, three-octave chores
And a quiet, old B-minor-flat nods and hums
Gabriel Ballard, 3/19/2010
So very good, Gabe. I'm getting a real Richard-Burton-reading-'Under Milk Wood' vibe. Well done.
ReplyDeleteHaha! Thanks Justin. That's a welcome comparison... I was not necessarily in that stylistic mindset when I was writing this, but I'll take it!
ReplyDeleteThis one really is purely me, straight from my gut. I can't say what inspired it really at all.