Sunday, March 18, 2012

Spring in PA

'Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.'

How proud muscle and bone are,
blood up and nose to the wind;
how proud in collapse to rebel
against the sun and raise the white flag
in sarcasm and growing fat like a cow.

Sun peeking thru grass, seek the yellow pulse
that binds daisies and violets; jimmy unending joy
from my gut where I walk
past streams that hide in plain sight,
by green ponds where geese sojourn,
under bridges the young have not
yet burned. Joy should be my name,
hammered out by the red crested bird
on hollow trunks near sacred stone.

Walk with me my friend; step with me
over mossed limbs. Go silently along mud banks
where the deer drink. Guide me past
the broken window where a star
once imploded on crypt house walls.

Be here my friend, by my side, bone of bone,
breath of my breath. Your words read me
closer than i know myself.

Find me inside these wrenched black gates
that a car has tried to ram through,
writing in this Spring park on a stump
with my chihuahua who's too timid to run
with the big dogs. Find me waiting, skin melting
from bone, ears failing to hear, tongue cloying
sweet words to seduce happiness.

You were there those debauched nights
when the drunken, drug-hazed car lamed me
along the tracks to a horizon with no returns.
That night I lost my glasses in the brown study.

Be with me now friend, though my bowels give out,
my eyes glaze gray, and fingers tremble
with a spoon of shriveled grain. It's your song
that once I heard it, the universe came clean
and peeled back this skin it wears.

--------------

These sounds and face tonguing and toothing gritty
truths, make me look like a victim, free of fault.
I've dished as much shit as anyone and pulled pain
from life like a bad tooth torn from a sick mouth.

But her; why her dead so young and without blame,
that night her blood flowed from under the tires.
I will wait, friend, for as long as it takes, on
whatever desolate shore, whatever fiery night
to speak of this and hear you answer and say the holy name.

(c) Copyright 2012 Charles David Miller. All rights reserved.

20 comments:

  1. Your words read me
    closer than i know myself...nice...some friend you got there man...the universe came clean
    and peeled back this skin it wears...is a great line as well....but it is the honesty and desire in those last two stanzas that do it for me...

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  2. past streams that hide in plain sight,
    by green ponds where geese sojourn,
    under bridges the young have not
    yet burned

    Fun description of the coming of spring, Charles! How wonderful,'under bridges the young have not yet burned' Obviously there are still little hideaways yet to be discovered!

    Hank

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  3. dang charles...what a powerful write...tight with emotion, pain, hope and desire...It's your song
    that once I heard it, the universe came clean
    and peeled back this skin it wears...awesome

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  4. I love this. This is a fantastic poem Charles. Every word is an image. Hats off!

    Cheers,

    Mark Butkus

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  5. Charles, this was impressive and quite affecting. So many great ideas here, some of my favorites:

    I've dished as much shit as anyone and pulled pain
    from life like a bad tooth torn from a sick mouth.

    I walk
    past streams that hide in plain sight,
    by green ponds where geese sojourn,
    under bridges the young have not
    yet burned.

    Walk with me my friend; step with me
    over mossed limbs. Go silently along mud banks
    where the deer drink.

    I sit on my fat ass in awe, my friend. :) Thanks, Mosk

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  6. Wow... fabulous write!
    I'm with Brian 'Your words read me
    closer than i know myself' is just one out of many truly wonderful lines.
    It's deep, raw, and honest. It says a truth of 'I've been there and I'm not proud but, I have lived to tell the tale, and gives thanks to a higher power who never let you go. Really, wonderfully penned.

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  7. Be here my friend, by my side, bone of bone,
    breath of my breath. Your words read me
    closer than i know myself.

    The intimate--the really intimate place between two people--where we reside in faith of the time we have--

    This piece speaks to me again and again of that place--Stunning work---

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  8. Mining the depths of the heart for this ore, and reading it over twice, still not sure if it's shiny, malleable gold or a bucket of rough alloys to forge into steel. We have the almost idyllic opening, the yearning for joy and peace, by 'bridges the young have not yet burned,' and then we get the dark inside of the proverbial skull beneath the skin. 'That night I lost my glasses in the brown study.' is just lucent for me. Fine fine writing, Chaz, and not something I'm going to pretend to understand until I live with it longer and like all the real stuff, it organically makes itself my own.

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  9. Hi Charles, this sems to me to really be a story poem--kind of a grim one, but very well told, memorable lines--a friend lamed and lover killed--you've managed to be poetic and colloquial in wonderful ways. K.

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  10. A bit of a longing it seems or a want to know, as you tell it masterfully, a tale in verse like no other. Tons of great lines but the last two stanzas really thrust forth the final impact, wonderfully done!

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  11. As always the imagery is strong, and the narrative quality unparallelled.

    Great work here.

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  12. Beautiful writing...I specially like the joy and beauty of the second stanza, and images of these lines:

    my eyes glaze gray, and fingers tremble
    with a spoon of shriveled grain. It's your song
    that once I heard it, the universe came clean
    and peeled back this skin it wears.

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  13. A gripping tale, Charles. I'm not understanding it completely, but it drips with raw emotion. Nice one.

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  14. Not sure if I'm reading right at all. It feels like shared secrets. There is union in the sharing but then there are those secrets and now we know them.

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    Replies
    1. You point out a very significant paradox, one that should not be taken lightly I agree. The secret is to remain secret and untold because in the telling it becomes no secret. Yet, in sharing a secret with a friend does it become less secret or only shared? Many personal secrets are those that relate to something about us, something we mightbwish to hide from curious or prying minds. Maybe it's too embarrassing to tell, maybe it's too special and in thevtellingbwill become less so.

      Surely we share secrets with those we love and whom we trust, and in doing so become closer, forming a bond of trust. So, though there might indeed be secrets in this poem, they are meant to be shared, perhaps to form a bond with others, a bond of poetry or as you will.

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  15. This one yo-yoed my emotions a-plenty, Chaz...with hope..with blood and death...that notion of bridges the young haven't burned yet..I love. A beauty, this one...but then they are all powerful and worthy. :))

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  16. Charles, some super writing here with a rainbow of tones/feeling. Just love the overall speaking that I hear in this one. The requesting parts, from walk with me down…I found extremely strong…the chihuahua stanza, really liked how it altered the reading a bit, made me stop and just absorb it, really liked how it did that, and my little dog is like that too. another excellent read. enjoyed it. Thanks

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  17. These lines are so evocative of your Spring piece:

    Joy should be my name,
    hammered out by the red crested bird
    on hollow trunks near sacred stone...

    which made the change of tone in the conclusion all the more poignant: to enjoy the beauties of a new season without that special person present is quite devastating.

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  18. A powerful poem, inside and out. It starts so sweetly, and reminded me with longing the northeast from where I hatched...then the last few stanzas grabbed my gut....

    A powerful poem, inside and out.

    Lady Nyo

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  19. Touching images to stumble upon. Very taken.

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