—poem on a line from e.e. cummings
Rubble, smoke, sparrow, stone,
she wakes in darkness all alone.
Angel, master, docent, thief,
she wears the scars of love and grief.
Furrow, honey, Chopin, moss,
those are veils that are her loss.
There’s more, there’s more to be undone—
milk, lattice, lily, plum.
I do like e.e.’s play, which you play with here. The refrain is nice, and I like the way you reverse the pattern in the last couplet. The line that’s awkward for me is that double “are” in “those are veils that are her loss.” Sounds too much like pirate talk:)– ar ar!
Love this. Would you mind if I reposted on my blog (and linked back to you?)
Let me know…
Of course … Thanks!
r
Hope to hear you sing-recite this, someday. Wonder whether you were led back to cummings by the last talking gourds, with wendy v. (she used him as an example of poetry/poet that’s not always playful.) of course, i now have a good excuse to ferret this line out. woohoo! (And, thank you, by the way.)
Ah … Cummings is one of my forefathers, after Shel Silverstein, he was the first poet I fell in love with. He showed me how fun poetry could be … Though I was too young then to understand most of what he was actually conveying, I sure did get that there was pleasure to be found in the play of language …
I forget where I recently saw this poem and was struck again by this line–though the killer is the line that comes after it … 🙂
“I am too busy with my flowers to believe,” the rain answered.
Ah, you found it …
That line, oh how I love it, how it breaks my heart and bolsters me at the same time
beautiful!! i love this. xoxo