Hands. (Photo credit: Mrs Logic)
Behold the salted land of plenty,
raped and pillaged by its own devoted grace
now stalked by storied banshee
no lines by which to draw a brace.
What bounty once divined,
what passion might have lain
now blinded and maligned
before the dusty plow could feign.
We are cracked
callow and divinely sallow—
yes, youth has lived to see the fated act:
these writers’ hands grown fallow.
(And for an update on why this crazy writer’s life has been crazy this past week, and the blogging sporadic, see my lively life update–complete with a new review of The Hollow March!)
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It’s amazing. I liked it, but it felt like there needed to be a last line… and then the sensation that that feeling “something missing” from it WAS the last line. And then I loved it.
I think it’s because the last line also happens to be the last and only stanza that ends in an unstressed syllable. It subsequently feels weaker than the proceeding lines, as if you were about to say something… But came up on a loss for words. Artfully done, and a damn fine example of your progression as a poet.
beautiful…left me wanting to hear more…:)
the openiong two lines are grippers chris…i really hope that my hands never grow fallow you know…
Happy Birthday …and busy is a good thing..embrace it and enjoy it. Nice write 🙂
If I’m not tearing my hair out over the bouncy-busy deadlines of life, I’m not really living!
Beautiful expression that lends to the connection of the elemental bonds. ~ Rose
Nothing like getting a year older to make mortality stick in the craw a bit–a fine look at the callow turned sallow, something you are neither young enough or old enough to truly be, yet you invest the words with authenticity and a heavy feel as of years like blocks falling–like I needed that, at forty years beyond you. ;_) I know this is also about writing, but so far, it’s been the opposite experience for me, thankfully. I especially like the middle stanza for some reason–it just ‘tastes good’ if you will. Good luck with the job hunt and I feel your pain on the utility company issues. I *hate* that.
Wonderful, Chris! The photo that you’ve chosen to accompany your words is just as brilliant. LOVE …now stalked by storied banshee
I work with elderly people and often find myself thinking of all those hands have done… and all mine do for others… and all my children’s will do. Beautiful expressions here. (And I love your Lake Michigan shot… can’t wait for summer.)
Each set of hands is a mirror on another world, I do often find…
(And thank you; those lakes are certainly among the things I miss most from my move away from the great white north!)
I think the writer’s hands do not seem that fallow! K.
great write for fallow mind and hands …thanks for sharing x
Happy 23rd bday, new apt. etc. and the best for a job in writing. You have been busy. Great poem and I appreciate your posts at dverse.
Beautifully crafted from a fallow mind and hands!
Anna :o]
Your writing hands certainly are not fallow. Happy Birthday! 23 is a great age. 🙂