deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Lowlands
Across the lowlands they are slicing through a leaking canvas
scattering her scarlet hues
in lengths as tendrils of her hair
as sails for boats of soft, cream lingering
washing weakly away the old Moon
and singing in the darker wings
out, out from their indented home.
Across the lowlands -7 unpredicted - hefty gale
defying the monotony of Summer's last days -
her life is over,
scratched out, forgotten, in the bins of over used, and barely used, diaries,
in the buckets of waste wafting into Mother's gaping sea,
green and ill-tempered and swelling, bursting, oozing exhaustion.
Rats run across the lowlands, eating the rot rather wasted on heaps for loveless children to sift,
spiders crawl for solice from harsher seasons only to be pummeled by poison for crimes not yet committed,
slugs spliced for plants intended as part of their cycle,
flockers and foragers culled on the hunches of old rather than evidence of new.
The lowlands are gasping.
The lowlands suffer gangrene.
The lowlands are gutted in botched operations.
The lowlands yields only char and bile and rot,
char, bile and rot.
scattering her scarlet hues
in lengths as tendrils of her hair
as sails for boats of soft, cream lingering
washing weakly away the old Moon
and singing in the darker wings
out, out from their indented home.
Across the lowlands -7 unpredicted - hefty gale
defying the monotony of Summer's last days -
her life is over,
scratched out, forgotten, in the bins of over used, and barely used, diaries,
in the buckets of waste wafting into Mother's gaping sea,
green and ill-tempered and swelling, bursting, oozing exhaustion.
Rats run across the lowlands, eating the rot rather wasted on heaps for loveless children to sift,
spiders crawl for solice from harsher seasons only to be pummeled by poison for crimes not yet committed,
slugs spliced for plants intended as part of their cycle,
flockers and foragers culled on the hunches of old rather than evidence of new.
The lowlands are gasping.
The lowlands suffer gangrene.
The lowlands are gutted in botched operations.
The lowlands yields only char and bile and rot,
char, bile and rot.
Published 12th Oct 2018
| Edited 4th Feb 2019
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Anonymous
- Edited 8th Nov 2018 00:49am
13th Oct 2018 9:36pm
<< post removed >>
14th Oct 2018 6:54am
Todski, thank you, normally it's due to the fact friends of old have gone and 1, I'm quite quiet replying, I often feel like I have no words when people are kind about work I put together without seeming insincere which I would never want and 2, I prefer the penning and reading others than focusing on a unique reply to each person. People I take the time with presently are you and Ahavati and due to that take the time with me. Enjoying art is a mutal exchange and without it the feelings of the work don't always come across.
Our planet humbles me, the fact it might die or destroy us in my daughter's lifetime causes a shift in my entire make up, like perhaps procreating was selfish and other fatal and lynching emotions. Regardless this had to be in my body of work, frighteningly it becomes more and more about making sure what I say matters than making sure my work supports me through personal trials as it has in years before.
Our planet humbles me, the fact it might die or destroy us in my daughter's lifetime causes a shift in my entire make up, like perhaps procreating was selfish and other fatal and lynching emotions. Regardless this had to be in my body of work, frighteningly it becomes more and more about making sure what I say matters than making sure my work supports me through personal trials as it has in years before.
Anonymous
- Edited 8th Nov 2018 00:49am
14th Oct 2018 7:58am
<< post removed >>
