[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.

 

 

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