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Critical Analysis #2
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Astro
Member
since 2003-01-08
Posts 69
Ca.

0 posted 2003-11-25 08:25 PM


Ode on Structure

Inside the collapsed heap of brick,
Beside these separated parts
Placed in skewed arrangements -- collage
Encased in a cage of red brick,

Soft moans lift like ghosts of curling smoke,
Scoffed and bruised by Gravity’s abuse,
And, upon settling to scattered
Sand, acquiesce to fade like spent smoke.

Silence nestles until hunger
Hints at the emptiness within
--Without. Angry rumblings stutter,
Shout! with such ferocious hunger.

Silent as a blue-jays nest at night
Now rent with squawking at dawn’s delight
--Drums that roll in remembrance of sight
Some voiceless soldiers saw in the night.

Gossamery solace, these marred
Memories provide. Of substance,
Sustenance, there is naught but lives
Lanced -- flesh irreparably marred;

Flesh, that, even now in marbled green
Mesh, is fetid and reeks of decay,
Does seem animate still, with bitter
Buzz; the din of dimness, glowing green.

Those remnant survivors writhe with
Woes of both body and soul, trapped
Tangled, entwined with the mauled,
Mangled dead and mortar joined with.

Concrete accomplishments lie fallen,
Faux feat of Atlantean forte,
Financial planning, doctors, suites of
Substantial penthouse people -- fallen.

By that cinder, those splintered blocks,
Bisected by torso in twain,
Toddler pieces grasp the steel once
Soldered into pink playtime blocks.

Pink cheeks are turning pale, like lifeless
Links of gray chain. The spectre of hope,
Haughty in fleeting, trails stench – a black
Body that is bloated and lifeless.

Sounding from the lush black, pulsing,
Pounding periodically like
Lazy heartbeats, a haunting and
Hazy thing is forming – pulsing.

Pebbles crumble down like retreating
Rebels, falling back from the front lines,
Lichen pushed back by the blue tide; some
Stricken rock from the shore retreating.


Blind for so long; the radiance
Reminds that sight is an always
Awful beginning, as children
Coddle themselves in radiance

Of a thousand fractured prisms. Light:
Lovely proud strands of sweet-salted tears
That pour forth for the fractured and the
Flat, the cold of night and blinding light,

Tears that are spent for the yawning
Years and cold crimes committed in
Cruel moments; tears that take joy in
Jewels -- that wail for wounds still yawning.

Iron caged bars snap open, ripped wide
From their concrete enclosures outside
The burning sirens wail with mouths wide.

Inside, clovers line this massive grave.
The bustle about masquerades
As some passing thought, not as grave.

Stacking bricks
Collapsing bricks
Removing bricks


If anyone has read this far, I commend you! This is a difficult poem but it was a labor of love.The meter was insane! Is the meaning too enigmatic?

Sight is an always awful beginning

© Copyright 2003 Luke Austin Donatello - All Rights Reserved
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