Monday, October 3, 2011

Tuesday Poem--Dog Days


DOG DAYS

Verdigris, rust, rot--even the sun is cirrhotic, the phosphorescence riding in

uneasily on the agitated, late-summer tide. Skittering shore birds unthread


the fraying hem of the surf, their yellow beaks plucking at festering seaweed, 

fists of starfish. The reeds are writing their wills. The wind has given up on


braiding the old white wisps of the salt hay’s hair. There’s no telling when

the weather will turn. No place on earth will let me say--I’m tired to death


of life. Gulls circle overhead, chastising me, the combers rise up, manes

fuming. Only sparrows in rosa rugosa are imploring, pity, have pity, let her go.


18 comments:

  1. No, she misheard, it is the bee that implores 'pity' and 'let her go';
    threading through branch and petal, the sparrows bid 'come smell the rose.'

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  2. The gulls only want to hear themselves chatter.

    I am so glad to see your presence here again!

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  3. "The fraying hem of the surf..." reminds me that each wave is born anew, same water, altered form.

    "The reeds are writing their wills." Of course they are, I can see them. xo

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  4. A poem to 'chew' on, chock full of powerful images--I must admit to a passing fondness for the vulgarity of both gulls and sparrows.:)

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  5. I was enchanted from the first word :) and I especially enjoyed the lovely cadence you have weaving through this poem.

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  6. I love the sentence, 'There's no telling when the weather will turn.' in the context of this poem, operating on both the actual and the metaphoric.

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  7. you know i always read your poems. i dont have much to add except that i see what you see, and i admire what the other commenters, above, have said so well.
    xo

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  8. Melissa, it is wonderful to hear your voice again, though you've made me shudder with this one. Peace, T

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  9. Melissa- You're back! And with a bang, I might add. "Verdigris, rust, rot--" what a way to start a poem. I think the late summer tide is more alive than ever. :D

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  10. Dear Mary, ah, yes the Bee instructs the sparrow. Lovely. xo

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  11. Boodle, dear, yes, the gulls are a chattering lot. And I'm accustomed to try to make meaning out of noise. Could be I got it completely wrong. And it's wonderful to find you here! xo

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  12. Yes, Marylinn, I do forget that sometimes, that each wave, though made of the same water, is made anew. I' m glad you can see my reeds. xo

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  13. Dear Helen, glad that there was some substance for you to 'chew on', hopefully of the nourishing kind. Yes, there is a charm in the vulgarity of gulls, I've always thought. Thanks for stopping by.

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  14. Dear AJ, I'm delighted you were charmed from the very beginning and liked the cadence all the way through. Its wonderful when a reader can ride out the wave of the poem from the crest to it's roiling up on the beach. Thank you.

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  15. Dear Cattyrox, it's great when a pivotal phrase can act as both actual and metaphoric, and the whole poem gets to turn on it. Thanks for seeing that.

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  16. Dear Susan, thanks for everything. xo

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  17. Dear Tim, glad you found your way here, sorry for the shudder, hopefully all these poems won't have that effect!

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  18. Dear Jayne, glad you like the growling voice of 'verdigris, rust, rot' Yes, the summer tide is a lively dancer, still rousing about in her summer gauzy dress. xo

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