The Envy Of Sisyphus

Cherry

By lenchenelf

Thu, 21 May 2009
  • 6223 reads
10 comments
 

Revenant rags of bold summer day haunts,
sanguine in sky's dusk stretched tent.
Her wry smile strays through canvas, rent.
Cloud wrought frame holds wild light in shroud.

Now candour; moon bare breasts' sharp rise,
winks shine on tines of steep, forked road.
Braggart stump of old gibbet serves as bench,
so, pause a while, consider, choices spent
in which we thrive or die.

Past lives, a noose to dandle questions from;
this heart is silent. Some murmur, roar, more
inchoate, fervent in search of truth and yet,
I keep my head

and roll the stone of Woman's dread
while my feet still touch the Earth.

Certificate 12
Poem
Lacework
Love

Comments

Submitted by chuck on
I'm glad you stopped rolling long enough to write that lenchenelf.

Submitted by lenchenelf on
Thank you Chuck atb Lena

 

Submitted by tcook on
Every time I see this come through the editing process I wonder what 'remenant' is - do you mean 'remnant'?

Submitted by lenchenelf on
SaHa! well spotted sir, I was toying with the idea of 'revenant rags' , will edit forthwith and thanks :-) atb Lena

 

Submitted by tcook on
It's still not a word I know - and I always have difficulty with that. I'll go and look it up!

Submitted by lenchenelf on
Thanks for the encouragement Amna :-) atb Lena

 

Submitted by Ewan on
Revenant rags: I like that. At the risk of being boring, is it worth looking at the punctuation? regards Ewan

Author Page at the 'Zon
 

Submitted by lenchenelf on
Thanks Ewan, suggestions would be welcome, I've sumo-wrestled it several times since posting, but am not entirely happy with the outcome. Thank you also to the bountiful faun of plenty :-) :-) all the best, Lena

 

Submitted by Ewan on
Well, Jen is the expert, but: Revenant rags of bold summer day haunts; Sanguine in sky's dusk stretched tent. Wry, strained smile strays through canvas Rent. Cloud wrought frame holds wild light in shroud. Now candour; Moon bare breasts' sharp Rise. Winks shine on tines of steep, forked road; Braggart stump of old gibbet serves as bench. So, pause a while, consider, choices spent In which we thrive or die. Past lives, a noose To dandle questions from, this heart's silent. Some murmur, roar, more inchoate; fervent In search of truth and yet, I keep my head And roll the stone of Womans dread While my feet still touch the Earth. I know that many traditionalists like the capital at the start of the line. Many CW lecturers have told me that it is 'passé'. I read your poem easier without them, anyway. I think you can have 'this heart is silent' too without destroying the scansion... Anyway, I liked it. Ewan

Author Page at the 'Zon
 

Submitted by lenchenelf on
Thanks Ewan, I've taken your suggestions. Capitalisation is a thorny one, for the nature of the poem I chose an archaic style and wondered whether to continue the theme throughout, but you are quite right, your solution is easier on the eye for a reader. It is a peculiarity that I find a poem difficult to punctuate while it is still shape-shifting, squirmy little beastie that it is! all the best Lena ======== 09.08.12 Hi Ewan Still shape shifting/workshopping this piece. I'm very flattered but perplexed by the no. of reads it has recieved, has someone linked to this elsewhere? Do tell!