[poem] in frustration
Jun. 30th, 2011 12:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
suchacharmerCapture this world in a word scant and
Far apart. So hard to find-
A scent, a place, a memory, created in you tired mind
One last time:
There once was a man from Nantucket. . .we all know what
Rhymes with Nantucket. Where is Nantucket, anyway?
Timbuktu I can find on a map with no difficulty- just a dot
In Africa. Bored finger missing their pen connect
The dots from Timbuktu to Calcutta,
Calcutta to Baghdad.
Whisk me away on a magic carpet ride, a personal taxi
Service to the Seven Wonders of the ancient world. Show me
The Hanging Gardens of Babylon with vines that flower,
Twisting and turning and winding and curling ‘round pillars
Of stone. Let me pluck fruit from tree branches
Lounging over balconies to grounds below, climbing the stairs
Higher and higher
Until I see the backs of elephants that saunter through the
Streets, drinking from fountains.
Sweet man Nebchadnezzar. My testament to love is this pen,
Abandoned as my finger travels from Baghdad to Saudi Arabia.
Here there is no convenient dot. Instead I feel the hot sand
Stinging my skin and the sun burning my eyes as I lust after
The allure of Arabian nights
I seek treasures hidden behind secret doors and
Guarded by swarthy men with swords. Drop
One of their jewels into my palm, a glittering emerald or
Sapphire that scintillates like the ocean in its dying daytime hour.
There is my muse, a sapphire in my pocket for company
On this magic carpet ride.
Pen, I apologize. You’ve been sitting there for a while now,
Squandering precious time, wasting perfect ink. Lonely ink.
A lonely carpet ride over China (the next destination of my
Wandering finger). Let me soar through
Sparks and embers. See the dragons, far below.
Let me land and touch it’s back of fire. Let burn; I’ll race
Through the Orient like there’s no time left- no time
For words or otherwise- Give me ample time to walk the
Great Wall and swim across the water to Japan. There
I will find the perfect cherry blossom to tuck behind my ear.
Then I’ll sip the tea and feel like I can live forever wrapped in silk.
My muse has abandoned me. There’s the taste of fruit
From Babylon on the tongue and an Oriental cherry blossom
In my hair. Still I have no words. I might peer
Into this sapphire, comb it’s opaque depths for a
Spark of brilliance.
I might put my carpet in the foyer. Our excursions never
Helped a whit. I have nothing but a lonely pen and
Frustration as the words allude me once again. Shakespeare
Never had such a quandary. His sapphire was a gem, a
Diamond in the rough polished to sparkle and cut to
Pierce. I found nothing in Arabia- only sand and
A rant from a dying poet.
Far apart. So hard to find-
A scent, a place, a memory, created in you tired mind
One last time:
There once was a man from Nantucket. . .we all know what
Rhymes with Nantucket. Where is Nantucket, anyway?
Timbuktu I can find on a map with no difficulty- just a dot
In Africa. Bored finger missing their pen connect
The dots from Timbuktu to Calcutta,
Calcutta to Baghdad.
Whisk me away on a magic carpet ride, a personal taxi
Service to the Seven Wonders of the ancient world. Show me
The Hanging Gardens of Babylon with vines that flower,
Twisting and turning and winding and curling ‘round pillars
Of stone. Let me pluck fruit from tree branches
Lounging over balconies to grounds below, climbing the stairs
Higher and higher
Until I see the backs of elephants that saunter through the
Streets, drinking from fountains.
Sweet man Nebchadnezzar. My testament to love is this pen,
Abandoned as my finger travels from Baghdad to Saudi Arabia.
Here there is no convenient dot. Instead I feel the hot sand
Stinging my skin and the sun burning my eyes as I lust after
The allure of Arabian nights
I seek treasures hidden behind secret doors and
Guarded by swarthy men with swords. Drop
One of their jewels into my palm, a glittering emerald or
Sapphire that scintillates like the ocean in its dying daytime hour.
There is my muse, a sapphire in my pocket for company
On this magic carpet ride.
Pen, I apologize. You’ve been sitting there for a while now,
Squandering precious time, wasting perfect ink. Lonely ink.
A lonely carpet ride over China (the next destination of my
Wandering finger). Let me soar through
Sparks and embers. See the dragons, far below.
Let me land and touch it’s back of fire. Let burn; I’ll race
Through the Orient like there’s no time left- no time
For words or otherwise- Give me ample time to walk the
Great Wall and swim across the water to Japan. There
I will find the perfect cherry blossom to tuck behind my ear.
Then I’ll sip the tea and feel like I can live forever wrapped in silk.
My muse has abandoned me. There’s the taste of fruit
From Babylon on the tongue and an Oriental cherry blossom
In my hair. Still I have no words. I might peer
Into this sapphire, comb it’s opaque depths for a
Spark of brilliance.
I might put my carpet in the foyer. Our excursions never
Helped a whit. I have nothing but a lonely pen and
Frustration as the words allude me once again. Shakespeare
Never had such a quandary. His sapphire was a gem, a
Diamond in the rough polished to sparkle and cut to
Pierce. I found nothing in Arabia- only sand and
A rant from a dying poet.
