deepundergroundpoetry.com
St. Cecelia's Rummage Sale
With colored rags in finest linen wrapped
In corrugated boxes tossed about
On tables laid with ashes and sack cloth
Confusion bought in Mexican rag rugs
By knotted fingers tied in Michoacán
Such is the broken fabric of my day
We see that all is god and god is all
Where worn out pumps and broken stringed guitars
All shimmer in the light of angel wings
The stumbling not dead with grave stone eyes
Who glide like phantom shadows caught in light
And end their lack in every gilded cup
A dollar’s value gained in passing on
And dust is simply dust and nothing less
If one is helped, then all are all the more
Our pleasing artifacts on blankets strewn
Gold coins or bric-a-brac won't bring you home
Soft voices cry the end of daily trades
The doors now locked and chained remind our hearts
That love is power sought in smallest acts
At Sunday’s St. Cecelia’s Rummage Sale
In corrugated boxes tossed about
On tables laid with ashes and sack cloth
Confusion bought in Mexican rag rugs
By knotted fingers tied in Michoacán
Such is the broken fabric of my day
We see that all is god and god is all
Where worn out pumps and broken stringed guitars
All shimmer in the light of angel wings
The stumbling not dead with grave stone eyes
Who glide like phantom shadows caught in light
And end their lack in every gilded cup
A dollar’s value gained in passing on
And dust is simply dust and nothing less
If one is helped, then all are all the more
Our pleasing artifacts on blankets strewn
Gold coins or bric-a-brac won't bring you home
Soft voices cry the end of daily trades
The doors now locked and chained remind our hearts
That love is power sought in smallest acts
At Sunday’s St. Cecelia’s Rummage Sale
Published 5th Nov 2016
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Ahh tomcat, I adore how this piece pulled me right onto the grounds and where people shifted and drifted among the tables and stalls where these wonderful faded and frayed items of yesterdays were for the taking for a little peddler's song. I've been to so many such events in my life, especially as a child when the family was at church functions every weekend, including bake sales, and handmade crafts by those of us who attended Sunday school.
7th Nov 2016 2:31am
I was driving through the Marin/Sonoma country side on a route made familiar in two of my erotic pieces... When I saw a sign for the annual St. Cecelia's Rummage Sale...
The poem grew from that...
And yes it took me back to being a kid and the annual Holiday Fun Faire that my church put on...
Glad for the memories ...
tommy
The poem grew from that...
And yes it took me back to being a kid and the annual Holiday Fun Faire that my church put on...
Glad for the memories ...
tommy
