Upon discovering a broken gravestone

We walk toward the end of the field, where a hedge wall separates manicured graves from older, wilder times. We pause at mama and daddy's place. They are sharing a rose bush now, just as they shared every penny, every scrap of anything they had all through World War II. There is his grandfather, with both wives, and even further in is his 2 month old uncle who died of typhoid. Then some cousins. We know they are cousins but we just don't know whose.

At the hedge, we sit down for a rest. Have you ever been behind the hedge? I ask him. Yeah, once with a girl. Wanna go now? He smiles and gives me a peck. I push myself up with the cane. Come on I say. Let's explore.  We find a place to push through and the world changes.  The trees block out the sunlight.  There is leaf litter instead of grass, there are graves with stones that are melting away and stones that are broken.  Some so pock-marked that the names and dates cannot be read.  There are stones that face oak trees. Funny, until we realize that the acorns that fell on that newly hand-dug grave, grew into the oak of today, an oak that fed on the body below.  There are birds in the wood.  I see a pileated woodpecker, then its mate calls. Stepping over a rusty wire fence, I catch a glimpse of a red, white, and blue flag and a new brass marker announcing that someone has still not forgotten this one civil war soldier.  Bird foot violets scatter themselves across this graveyard cum forest.  There is a grave with our name!  And another with grandmama's maiden name!  

I begin to cry.  Bury me here, I say. I don't want to be down there in that field, under the hot sun and sealed in a vault to stew in my own juices for eternity.  

Oh, I like this one a lot.

small green frog
clings to the
backlit screen
as if the heat
is too much to bear

  Just Past Pilgrim's Rest Missionary Baptist
« on: May 30, 2011, 07:31:58 PM » by Lavonne Westbrooks
there's a red barn on the hill,
a Pure station on the corner.
Railroad north, river south.
You're there when
the gravel rattles you
out of your city mind.
Reply | Reply with quote | Modify | Remove | Split Topic
Report to moderator   99.159.69.209 (?)
  Re: Just Past Pilgrim's Rest Missionary Baptist
« Reply #1 on: May 30, 2011, 07:35:20 PM » by maggie flanagan-wilkie
I think just the destintion and the last three line would give you a solid poem.

there's a red barn on the hill,
a Pure station on the corner.
Railroad north, river south.
You're there when
the gravel rattles you
out of your city mind.
Reply | Reply with quote | Modify | Remove | Split Topic
Report to moderator   75.178.24.77 (?)
  Re: Just Past Pilgrim's Rest Missionary Baptist
« Reply #2 on: May 30, 2011, 07:37:42 PM » by Lavonne Westbrooks
But then the poem would imply that the traveler is searching for God instead of just the home place.  Perhaps I need a title change, too.

Will wait out the comments. Smiley
Reply | Reply with quote | Modify | Remove | Split Topic
Report to moderator   99.159.69.209 (?)
  Re: Just Past Pilgrim's Rest Missionary Baptist
« Reply #3 on: May 30, 2011, 07:52:26 PM » by Tom Riordan
Quote from: Lavonne Westbrooks on May 30, 2011, 07:31:58 PM
there's a red barn on the hill,
a Pure station on the corner.
Railroad north, river south.
You're there when
the gravel rattles you
out of your city mind.
Enjoy this so much, Lavonne, vivid, spiritual and funny too.
Re Maggie's idea, I might cut just "Railroad north, river south" line. It lifts me out of my picturing of the specific locale, and makes the gravel-road destination seem less isolated than I want it to be.
I might start L1 with capital too, or lowercase all but first word of title, to smoothe junction between them.
Tom
Reply | Reply with quote | Modify | Remove | Split Topic
Report to moderator   67.81.136.242 (?)
Move Topic | Remove Topic | Lock topic | Set topic sticky | Merge Topics | Link to Calendar |

Ann dreamed
of a newborn,
her newborn.
WHILE SHE WATCHED
her father
dropped the baby;
crushed her skull.
ANN PANICKED
hid the injury
while he faded
into darkness.

Abbey Road Studios, June 1967

Ringo is speaking to
a psychic chick
in the corner
who tells him that
one day he will be
remembered by
young people
as the voice of
a cartoon tank engine

He laughs and says
I'm just as
bloody likely
to stop
wearing bell bottoms.

A dark screened porch in June

flying roaches
arrive from
the pine wood
bombard screens
scurry up and
down
camp follower
luna moth
clings high
on a two by four
she will flee
after the
assault
a stink bug
helicopters by
parachutes
into my lap
his gas released
I retreat.

In the dark
the cat waits
to pounce
upon your toes
when exposed
as you turn
toward me.

Nice!

Yellow butterflys
hot wind interrupts
the pas de deux

Bond squats
rolls a handful of dry earth
between fingers
attempts transmission
of his hopes for
a decent crop of corn

this year

Rocky (best blue tick
he ever had) props
his head
on Bond's knee
thinking how few
rabbits there are

this year

Hercules as Medic

A stryker roars across
the rocky landscape,
helmeted heads face
every direction;
searching for Ajani.

Shit! He runs like a
fucking red deer.

Well, he's gonna bleed
like a stuck pig
when I find him.

Then a sound like
bubble wrap bursting,
popping begins.
The vehicle empties.

The strongest man
in the world hangs back,
counting heads.

occasionally,

she will toss her head
in just the same way as she did
at seven years old when she
stood in the front yard, posed
as a cheerleader, hands on hips,
chin jutting
determinedly upwards.

Compromise


He, evidently, slows down while

she, obviously, hurries to keep up.

Neither looks happy.