The splintered, wooden rod was snapped---
but will the pendulum swing back to strike me?
The sodden ground fashioned with the tread marks of war.
Ill mentions of the half-moor.
Awakened, Desdemona dies, the history erupted in precedents of magma.
Blé, n'est-pas?
What wafer poisons me?
All things born in mortar or effervescence taste of hypocrisy.
It is the pen, the Word, the bleeding band?
Can your smite stain a nation if you hear bugles ring
at the tyrants' march?
The erosion and silent absolution will suffice
in the remembrance of mice.
~Jill E. Antel 10/13/09
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Wow, Bean. Nice! I know you usually prefer to write modernist poetry, but this is very reminiscent of, I want to say, Andrew Marvell, due to the political undertones.
ReplyDeleteIt has potential, methinks. The one thing that strikes me is that the two stanzas are more like two separate poems. Is that intentional?
Hmmm...I'm not sure, but I guess both stanzas can be deconstruction, a la William Blake (The Lion and The Lamb).
ReplyDeleteI'm going to post the story behind it now...it's actually about a real debate.