Raising the Dead

Gold cherry

By fatboy74

Wed, 24 Jan 2018
  • 7371 reads
21 comments
 

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.

Certificate 12
Poem
A Doughnut Sends A Postcard Home
Surreal

Comments

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

This is one which gives you something different (in a good way) with each read. Well done. 

 

Submitted by fatboy74 on

Cheers poncey. I love the fact we can put pictures on now, I was looking forward to choosing the picture as much as posting the poem. 

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

That is a brilliant picture! 

 

Submitted by airyfairy on

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.

Submitted by fatboy74 on

Thanks for the kind words airyfairy, I appreciate you spending time on it. Simon Armitage said stuff blurts out and that's what happened here.

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

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.

 

Submitted by fatboy74 on

Hey Jenny, I think I must be missing my Walking Dead fix! I think the idea is better than the poem but it's good to write things down.

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

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

 

Submitted by fatboy74 on

Many thanks Di, I was very close to Cookham recently but never got to go which I regret. Don't worry about critiquing, I really appreciate you commenting and talking about the things you did.

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

Wonderful!  I'll hear them rattling after me all the way home.

Submitted by fatboy74 on

Ha yes, run fast, but not too fast, a fast walk should do it. Thanks for the kind words.

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

This is our Facebook and Twitter Pick of the Day!

Please share/retweet if you liked it too!

 

Submitted by fatboy74 on

That's great, cheers.

 

Submitted by mickleinapickle on

Startling! I must read it again... to try to capture it all.

 

Submitted by fatboy74 on

There is a lot there, not sure it's all in the right poem - there may be some stowaway lines from other places. Many thanks for stopping by.

 

Submitted by Kilb50 on

Enjoyed this fb. Dystopian and reckless - in a very good way. More recklessness in poetry, I say!

 

Submitted by fatboy74 on

I totally agree Kilb, zombies lend themselves to recklessness. It's the hungry eyes. Many thanks for the kind words.

 

Submitted by Parson Thru on

Nicely detached from narrative. Dreamlike. Takes some doing, that. I'm glad you're writing again, too.

Parson Thru

Submitted by fatboy74 on

I am definitely upping my output, I haven't written two poems so close together, for a very long time. If I can get it back to one a month and then less I might get back in the groove properly. Appreciate you stopping by and thanks for the kind words.

 

Submitted by Alice Hamilton on

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!

 

Submitted by fatboy74 on

Thank you Alice for you lovely comment, really appreciated.