Friday, October 16, 2009

Another PSF poem about death. Yay!

It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down;
It was not night, for all the bells
Put out their tongues, for noon.

It was not frost, for on my flesh
I felt siroccos crawl,
Nor fire, for just my marble feet
Could keep a chancel cool.

And yet it tasted like them all;
The figures I have seen
Set orderly, for burial,
Reminded me of mine,

As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key;
And I was like midnight, some,

When everything that ticked has stopped,
And space stares, all around,
Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,
Repeal the beating ground.

But most like chaos,--stopless, cool,
Without a chance or spar,--
Or even a report of land
To justify despair.

22 comments:

Lewd Bob said...

It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down;


I felt like that last Saturday night.

Mad Cat Lady said...

I feel like that this morning.

Cath said...

When everything that ticked has stopped

I like that line - a lot. And thank you Ramon for keeping us all chipper going into the weekend!!

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

My pleasure, Cath.

Lewd Bob said...

It's much more civilised over here in poetry slam Friday than it is over in Perseus' 200+ comments gossip column.

squib said...

I like the siroccos crawling on flesh

and 'Without a chance or spar'

very nice

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

Bob, that's because we don't have those trouble makers Witch One or Melba.

And big words make Kitten's head hurt.

WitchOne said...

Really? You wanted me to crash this party didn't you?

I need to point out that PSF should really be a little more relevant. It's Spring, not Autumn.

The rest is good, I enjoyed my weekly dose of culcha, thank-you Ramon.

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

OK Witchie but don't stumble about drunkenly, crashing into the furniture.

Lewd Bob said...

Ramon and Bob were standing in the corner of the room, chatting to Cath over beers about poetry. Meanwhile Perseus, holding court on the far side of the room, backlit by a lamp and flamboyantly waving his arms around, threatening to spill his red wine but not, was relating hilarious stories of woe to a captive audience.

"How about that Dickinson," chortled Ramon, throwing down the last gulp of beer as he eyed Perseus pityingly.

"Yeah," agreed Bob, wandering when Perseus was going to shut the fuck up. "A regular party pooper."

"But a lovely poem it was," added Cath, wondering what the boys were looking at.

"Hey!" shouted Witchy, who had left Perseus' side and had wandered up to the beer drinkers. "That's the wrong fucken season for that poem, you arseholes."

And she wandered back to Perseus' circle, glancing over occasionally to gauge the reaction.

"Another beer Cath?" asked Bob suddenly, afraid he'd run out of things to say about Dickinson.

"Sure," said Cath.

"Ramon?"

"Don't mind if I do."

WitchOne said...

Yeah, come back when you have a personality!

Melba said...

Hey I resent that Ramon!

Even if it is true.

And whaddya mean civilised over here compared to the 200+ post? The last few comments are about burgers and the Fairy Tree. Nothing provocative there.

Kettle said...

If Dickinson wandered in, which party do you think she'd join?

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

Neither Kettle.

She'd spend the entire evening chatting to the electric lamp.

Which would be a shame, as she'd miss my drunken Cossack dance.

Kettle said...

Ha ha, Ramon! I reckon any lamp talking of Dickinson's would be LSD induced, and the only reason she'd miss your drunken Cossack dance would be because one of Pers's crowd had pulled out the nude Twister board.

wari lasi said...

Nice Ramon. Wonderful use of language and not nearly as depressing as some of the stuff you present on a Friday.

For the millionth time, I sit in awe of creative people.

I'm in flooded Pattaya if anyone cares. And last night I met the most beautiful woman in the world. And you know what? She wanted to have sex with me, for money! I kid you not. Sex. For money. Unbelievable. Is there a name for that? So I gave her some fatherly advice (what else could I do? She looked younger than my eldest daughter), bought her a meal and felt good about myself. Until another bloke came along and she went to have sex with him. For money. I'm shattered.

WitchOne said...

Oh wari, you are too good for this world. xx

Cath said...

Thanks Bob for including me in a little story...

Puss In Boots said...

Wait Wari, I'm confused. Did she want to pay you for the sex, or did she want you to pay for the sex?

Mr E Discharge said...

Sex. For money. Unbelievable. Is there a name for that?

My recent experience suggests it's called "marriage".

wari lasi said...

Thanks Witchie!

And Puss, I must shamefacedly admit that not one woman ever has offered to pay me for sex. It would of course be outstanding value, but nevertheless not likely.

Mr E, I can't remember who said that wives are the best paid prostitutes in the world.

WitchOne said...

Just wish men made the marriage experience worth it.

Maybe I should just give it up, stay married and have an affair every so often.

Oh, that would make me a man.