Monday, April 11, 2005
lift your head againso here is my poem... you might not understand it i guess. it doesn't flow as well as it originally did, i had to change some things so it'd be a bit easier to grasp. i was mildly happier with it before, but i seemed to be the only one who understood it. oh, and a note: "poor boys" are poboys (that is what they sound like in louisianian accent). well, here goes..
Poor Boys
Wrinkles flicker on the skin
Veiling the young woman within
Who recalls wavering days, long nights
In the house hidden from roadside’s sight
By trees traced with tresses of Spanish hags
That veil a thousand acres
A thousand acres
A thousand plants
Plants for the nation
On that plantation
A plantation
With lines
With rows
With rhymes
No time
Words unsaid scrawled between lines of corn
Written on the sill of the
Window of her eyes
Watching as they worked the fields
With poor boys in her stomach
Filling the void that her father left
A clatter in front of her
A daughters eyes gaze
At her reflection
In a portal
A daughter of her own
Two worlds collide and life is found
On that fertile middle ground
Daughter neglect finds her daughter’s regret
Of not quite filling that void
So she will fill it
With fried fish, with a second dish
Of poor boys.
and try it