Raising the Dead
By fatboy74
- 7401 reads
Raising the Dead
And they would have to form an orderly line,
pick sod from teeth with brittle fingers,
don’t all speak as one,
or start to spoil for a fight
before it’s begun.
Reconstitute from “special dust”,
though how to separate ash
from Norfolk sand?
gives some an eddied look,
and makes me think of golden flags, 99s.
Michael Horden flopping softly
over weathered groynes.
We only ever loved you.
Where’s Heaven?
I’m scared.
No time for all of that.
We need our sleep. It’s hard to under…
Stand up straight. Don’t shuffle.
Crusts and crows make curly hair.
A bleached jaw-bone cartwheels over tarmac.
I dared not look,
used up time by humming with accusing tone,
stared at some distant point, hurt and humble
as the wind dismembered a tuneless whistle
and the village dogs bayed.
Stare-each-one-down-in-turn.
The game of blame
an easy crown to force a nod,
a shake of hands,
mumbled apologies through erstwhile teeth.
The phantom tears from voided sockets
for the wasted years.
Give them lines. Fives. Make the run
to South Lodge and back - twice.
Watch Eighties hounds shit white
onto cracked-baked flags,
then chase them down under a bastard sun,
to the distant sounds of Sunday fights,
The A Team.
Greensleaves from an Ice cream van.
Run dogs, run!
Fight for scraps with the flies,
gnaw a hip-bone or two.
A metatarsal.
Watch the mingled dust of the burned scatter,
play follow-my-leader,
melt into The Wash.
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Comments
This is one which gives you
This is one which gives you something different (in a good way) with each read. Well done.
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That is a brilliant picture!
That is a brilliant picture!
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Read it three times so far
Read it three times so far and, as insert says, it gives more each time. This is absorbing, disturbing, and funny at times. Wonderful piece.
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Creepy images in my mind.
Creepy images in my mind. Dead bodies rising up. Yet I'm sure there's more to this poem than meets my eyes. Fascinating metaphors that left me curious and in awe.
Jenny.
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Made me think of Resurrection
Made me think of Resurrection Cookham painting by Stanley Spencer, only dark and funny. So glad you are writing again, you have a sensitivity which makes even poems about walking dead beautiful, sort of fragile. I'm hopeless at this critiquing, sorry. I liked it so much. Wind dismembering a whistle is something I'd never thought of and opens up so many ideas. Also "pick sod from teeth with brittle fingers" is a story on its own
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Wonderful! I'll hear them
Wonderful! I'll hear them rattling after me all the way home.
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This is our Facebook and
This is our Facebook and Twitter Pick of the Day!
Please share/retweet if you liked it too!
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Startling! I must read it
Startling! I must read it again... to try to capture it all.
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Enjoyed this fb. Dystopian
Enjoyed this fb. Dystopian and reckless - in a very good way. More recklessness in poetry, I say!
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Nicely detached from
Nicely detached from narrative. Dreamlike. Takes some doing, that. I'm glad you're writing again, too.
Parson Thru
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This is really impressive.
This is really impressive. I was immediately transported to a strange world. Touching and shocking, amusing and disturbing, above all, thought-provoking. What more might we expect from a poem? Superb!
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