March 11, 2013

when the dictionaries stop...



‘Hollow Men’ by Owen Freeman ©
when will the last poem be heard
( for T.S. Eliot and his Wasteland )

when will the last poem be heard
when will the last word be severed
from the eternal desire of our voices
when will the last cries
ring out in the absence of bells
when will birds know to come
for our eyes without wings
scattered upon the lands
in slow desiccation

when will the last poem be a rain
without clouds without rage without oceans
to pour into the hungry mouths of rivers
when will we be an empty without time
when will we cease to be tied to clocks
along avenues of disguise beaten
close to death with sticks
and forged metal with which
we announced our mastery
over and over each other

when will the last poem be heard
like the keys rattled to a kingdom
we once knew was part
of the simple beauty of morning
when will the last poem be me
when will the last poem be you
when will the last poem see
our promise scattered like corpse flowers
rotting under the Sun
when will the last poem know
the names we once sang to each other as schoolchildren
when will the last poem be a solemn oath
of silence taken up by the wind
when will the last poem see
what the future sees carved into rock and precipice
when will the last poem be a lined stairway
when will the last poem announce we knew
all the ways to heaven without gates

when will the last poem say
here lies what used to be
here lies what used to be
here lies what used to be humanity
as we are now barren perception
lost to a kingdom without a view
lost to a kingdom without a home
lost to a kingdom with nothing new
so full of what had been
when emptied into one last poem

EJR © 

10 comments:

  1. ..when emptied into one last poem.. somehow made me think of the psalms..as long as the earth turns and we suffer hardship and pain, we need those words as an outlet..

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    1. A very astute observation, the repeated phrasing, had me thinking of those songs we sing, when reaching for the heavens inside us to come home...thank you for reading...

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  2. hopefully we never come to the place where the last poem is heard...smiles.... when will the last poem be a rain
    without clouds without rage without oceans
    to pour into the hungry mouths of rivers...ha....def a fav part of this one....

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    1. I hope not either...as I continually pay tribute to this world with what words can paint...much gratitude...

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  3. I like your use of repeating lines. They add emphasis and rhythm almost like bells tolling.

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    1. one of my favorite things in this world, is the sound of bells tolling...thank you...

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  4. It with hope that the poems will always be heard..I liked the flow of the poem..asking of questions..seeking answers somewhere between the lines..thought provoking..

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  5. I remember, I have always been asking questions, I believe my first word was 'why'...and that just might be the mark of a poet or a madman...the jury is still out on this one...brightest blessings for stopping by, to read...gratitude...

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  6. Wow! This is incredible.

    when will birds know to come
    for our eyes without wings

    That's powerful stuff.

    -sir face

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