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the capes, the drawls, the runs through the door.
(for The Love Song of T. Stearns Eliot competition)
smell the lamb before it breaks,
before it is sold by the butcher,
before he pins up his notaries
of meat available.
his slimy hands back-slapping slap of chop sliding
and the baying tongue will
lick his grime back into the fleece; its ashtray
of ( forgotten things)
- the bottom of a lane mist.
- beneath the cushions of a velvet armchair.
- the impetuous run through the door.
- all these dusted-custard postcards of a beach-shoreline,
...of the heavy blue saucer of the Atlantic
up on the claps of pebbles and sea-weed drawling
slipping back into the waves,
their capes keep covering then withdrawing,
like old camera film that needs re-rolling,
slow-motion view - stems from the colibri - the stippling
on its last frame…
like salt-fresh wind bits stinging the eye, chips the chips
the fortunes in their landing no longer deserving
because the current, its cold deep worth fearing
its anger smashing the sea of the body
on rocks then back together reforming
as the sea
as a rescued dog returning.
#TSEliot
smell the lamb before it breaks,
before it is sold by the butcher,
before he pins up his notaries
of meat available.
his slimy hands back-slapping slap of chop sliding
and the baying tongue will
lick his grime back into the fleece; its ashtray
of ( forgotten things)
- the bottom of a lane mist.
- beneath the cushions of a velvet armchair.
- the impetuous run through the door.
- all these dusted-custard postcards of a beach-shoreline,
...of the heavy blue saucer of the Atlantic
up on the claps of pebbles and sea-weed drawling
slipping back into the waves,
their capes keep covering then withdrawing,
like old camera film that needs re-rolling,
slow-motion view - stems from the colibri - the stippling
on its last frame…
like salt-fresh wind bits stinging the eye, chips the chips
the fortunes in their landing no longer deserving
because the current, its cold deep worth fearing
its anger smashing the sea of the body
on rocks then back together reforming
as the sea
as a rescued dog returning.
#TSEliot
Published 7th Sep 2019
| Edited 25th Sep 2019
Author's Note
though evolving into something else this was initially inspired by all the poems within Prufrock especially this:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/44212/the-love-song-of-j-alfred-prufrock
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/44212/the-love-song-of-j-alfred-prufrock
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 9
reading list entries 5
comments 11
reads 674
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
7th Sep 2019 7:36pm
Your talent is astonishing. It's above level than most things i read here and the way you draw in your readers is like entering through the door that's nothing but darkness and then there's light. I really enjoy the mystery and the ambigousness that you seem to implement in your work and when i was reading this poem I felt i was actually there, your first stanza is so vivid unfolding the story.
thank you and that is quite an overwhelming complement particularly coming from a writer of whom I would say the same and even more so in terms of 'level' and quality.
so very appreciated. thank you.
so very appreciated. thank you.
Anonymous
- Edited 7th Sep 2019 8:22pm
7th Sep 2019 8:21pm
"...of the heavy blue saucer of the Atlantic"
Damn.
If lines like this don't reek of poetry, I don't know what does.
I would wish you luck in the challenge, but ...
Damn.
I'm not sure you are going to need any.
Damn.
If lines like this don't reek of poetry, I don't know what does.
I would wish you luck in the challenge, but ...
Damn.
I'm not sure you are going to need any.
8th Sep 2019 10:07am
Thank you Johnny, again this is so encouraging and am very grateful for these Classic Corner competitions.
Anonymous
7th Sep 2019 8:22pm
'Prufrock' was the first poem to awaken my poetic sensibilities: one of few 'works of art' I oft revisit. Something peculiarly British about Eliot. You manage to capture, whilst very much leaving your own idiosyncratic stamp. Excellent.
7th Sep 2019 10:04pm
While he was born physically to a prominent Boston Brahmin family in St. Louis, perhaps his soul migrated to where it felt most at home. I still have that yearning for France periodically, and had it long before I ever discovered my Norman leniage.
8th Sep 2019 10:14am
Thank you, super honored and yes i agree though it may lend itself to a class thing with Eliot as often is the case. Am very grateful and encouraged.
7th Sep 2019 10:08pm
Not sure you can control the muse when channeling a modernist master like Eliot, nomoth. Even he couldn't, which is why he took the literary movement to a different level as a leader. Much like, if I may say, you're doing.
8th Sep 2019 10:18am
That is no small complement especially coming from you Ahavati. Don't know how to respond to that well, except thank you.
13th Sep 2019 5:08am
very engaging...the such packed in nuancing images you flow with
could feel the constantly tiding hitting in incremental flashes...of memories of eroding frames..&
that only how beautifully fuses into the one in reemergence. feels a resurrection, the filling light(ness).
pace & style of your poetry is unique & amazing! thanks, keep sharing :)
could feel the constantly tiding hitting in incremental flashes...of memories of eroding frames..&
that only how beautifully fuses into the one in reemergence. feels a resurrection, the filling light(ness).
pace & style of your poetry is unique & amazing! thanks, keep sharing :)
14th Sep 2019 7:46pm
thank you, your critiques always blow me away. yes and yes, i am grateful you saw those. thank you :)
