This is a grim read Gary. There is a depressing note to the whole piece and
though much of what you say may well be true in that Earth and its component
parts little minds our individual comings and goings, they close over the
space we leave indifferent to our virtues or vices, there has to be some joy
in existence, joy or the hope of joy, to redeem the patterns of our ways.
Our time here is all we have and what we make while we are here is all we
make or can ever make. There has to be more than the drudgery and long grey
waiting for the inevitable.I appreciate the dirgelike qualities of the piece
but would have welcomed a glimmer of joy even if that were only in the
delight of mud squishing through toes.
One thing though that jars in this fine read is the notion of a virus
sneezing, it may cause a sneeze but is not equipped with the necessary
physical bits to sneeze itself. Not sure either about the closing line which
attributes an ability to distinguish smells to the air. It could be my
scientific background but my nose wrinkles at these two points.
Thanks for a good read gary. regards Arthur.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Gary Blankenship" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Sunday, January 18, 2004 2:41 AM
Subject: New: Vital Statistics
Vital Statistics
My birth was recorded
in pencil on the bottom of a page,
written upside down
to keep my entry separate.
The land does not care
about the details of my birth,
whether I walk gravel roads,
through new plowed fields,
hoe in hand;
whether marsh squishes between my toes,
clear ground beyond.
Water, forgetful, does not care.
Air surrounds me
as if I'm chained and shackled,
a prison with no escape but one;
but air cares no more
for the details of my birth
than the land or water.
My passing may be written
in the way of an ordinary death,
or pass unnoticed,
the binding cut so clean
no vibration singles I've departed.
The land may notice for less time
than it takes for a virus to sneeze.
Water, without memory, will find me
and assist worms in their work.
And air?
Air will not care,
at least not after the smell
has dissipated.
Writer's Hood, the best poetry on the web, at http://www.writershood.com/
Poets for Peace.... ˇPoemas sí, balas no!
|
