[lit-ideas] A Poem for Irene's black mood
- From: "Lawrence Helm" <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 30 Sep 2006 09:42:08 -0700
Leg Kicking Dreams of a Mongrel Dog
5-21-86
It is so hard to take my meaningless dream
Out like this upon a page, trotting it out
Like some mongrel pup that doesn't quite mean
anything,
But there it is staring back with utmost disregard
Of all propriety and dignity, quite capable
Of creating a stench before your very eyes:
The rose arbor of Banning Park shelters,
Now, napkins, cans, cigarettes and straws,
And countless days bearing this abuse
Till I repudiate my roots and wrench
Loose seeking a path where my boot won't
Trod upon another's print nor my steps be heard.
There is a violence in such tearing loose
(Bespattered fountains and litter-lined walks,
Though there be, and the click click of metal heels
And challenging looks) ah what it would cost
To change it all -- I could not pay.
It is better far to seek some other way:
There was a misting rain one day
High on Smith Mountain, and I ran
To see the center of a mild storm.
All was clean up there, and slick
Such that a rock that slipped away
Might lose itself in the sound of leaves.
I left it there in the deep coolness
Sending up steam to blend with the mist.
Running back then, I could not sustain
That purity, nor could it sustain me.
There must be another me treading upon
Some other path, ah me, down there.
Other related posts: