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Strawberry Scones & Skin & Bones
| Open Poetry #17 |
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Strawberry Scones & Skin & Bones |
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Glenn Logan Member
since 2001-10-10
Posts 111Virginia |
Balderdash and smoldering ash, I've come to bury, not to bash! A bald man babbles, a woman grieves: Is love so dead, There's nothing to retrieve? When love's lost, is there no reprieve? While a wounded woman whispers anxiously her agonizing tale, I'll chant you my terror in a world-weary wail, though I'll tell you nothing that you don't already know, if you've sweated through fifty-two summers (an Aztec century, you know), and sloughed through at least one deep winter snow! Yes, this is an old man's tale wrapped in a young man's rage: a poem to my youth, perhaps, yet showing my age: a book of youth, a book of age - well perhaps just a page to make a claim, perhaps an argumentative lie, that I've lived a bit, but I'm not ready to die: that though fat and past fifty, I'll gladly lie with any foolish maiden willing to let me try! Yet still in memory, wild women scream, mild-mannered men leave, weary women weep, and old bosoms heave with a relentless resentment only time can relieve. But the Gods still prance, and the Fates still weave. Ah what a tangled web: whom shall we now deceive? Shall it be ourselves? Or the more properly aggrieved? In seeking to remember, I am gladdened yet saddened that I remember. So I dis-remember, re-remember, re-weave. I forget, I invent, and re-invent, and try again to vent it all. I remember well the summers: heat of long sweaty days, and wild beast heat of two young bodies that entwined like the roots of grasses, before we dined. I remember the nights, I remember the days, I remember the mornings of cold winter days. And spring days too: I remember woods and rivers, lakes and beaches; I remember walks, and I remember talks while there was still something to say. I remember the strolls in the cool early spring, looking for flowers flooding the woods: finding wild violets - both blue and white - and ginger root, and white Dutchman's breeches and Virginia bluebells where the swift river had overflowed its banks. I remember the night - that very night - and I remember the day to this very day: The rich ripe flesh of peaches and cream - It's all now a picture, but was it always a dream? I remember the sweet odor of bare body on bright hay: and later her arms, perfumed with "ripe apricot," and the smell of beef and bay leaves boiling in a pot; yes, I remember a lot. I made strawberry scones - she loved strawberry scones - and she ate without hate, and then took my bait. But now all that is left is left is love's skin and bones. For years there had been pain in the silent howling, in the savagery of the silence, for there was still no solace in the violent quiet of the night, that boiled out of sight. But finally the boiling stopped, and steam came no more: life became quieter, though a bit of a bore. Now I remember the days, and remember the nights; I remember the loving as well as the fights; I remember the scratches and the little love bites. Strawberry scones and skin and bones - who is to say we did not have our day? Life was lived; love was lived, so life was loved. Yes, life was dearly loved. Then love was lost. What more can I say? What more can be said? Love is brief, and now is dead. But at least I have lived, at least I have loved; I've finished the "century," 52 solar years, an Aztec cycle of time; what can I do? Can my mind, stop on a dime? Was I a good husband? (Was she a good wife?) Was there any happiness? God knows there was strife - but there was, yes there was much happiness too! But with all of that is gone, I know I just lived as I could, and now, I still just do what I can, And who knows what I would do again? But I came to bury, to inter, to honor, not to bash! With balderdash and smoldering ashes a man babbles, and two wounded human beings still grieve, yet life's made of strands that love and death weave, and once love comes, some part may never leave. More of my poems, long and short, are posted at http://mywebpage/netscape.com/gloganpoet/gloganpoet.html http://www.poetrypages.com/pages/glennlogan http://www.geocities.com/glennlogan/index.html |
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| © Copyright 2001 Glenn Logan - All Rights Reserved | |||
Mistletoe Angel 
since 2000-12-17
Posts 32816Portland, Oregon |
 "Yet still in memory, wild women scream, mild-mannered men leave, weary women weep, and old bosoms heave with a relentless resentment only time can relieve. But the Gods still prance, and the Fates still weave. Ah what a tangled web: whom shall we now deceive? Shall it be ourselves? Or the more properly aggrieved? In seeking to remember, I am gladdened yet saddened that I remember. So I dis-remember, re-remember, re-weave. I forget, I invent, and re-invent, and try again to vent it all." BRAVO!!! CLAPPING WILDLY!!! Yes, some love that comes will never leave, but other love that does go will be re-visited and love will re-melt your heart and fill it with joy once more! (sigh) Sooooooo beautiful, sweet Glenn, your words speak of strawberry scones and Virginia bluebells and all the other beautiful things that make up heavenly lovely memories! (sigh) May love again fill your heart, and re-create the hope for eternal true loves happiness! (sigh) Outstanding, dear friend, your talent spellbinds me!!! We all love you, sweet friend!!! (big hugggssssss) Back up to the top you go I say!!! You have suhc a beautiful heart, sweet Glenn, thank you for sharing!  May love and light always shine upon you! Love, Noah Eaton |
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Startime Member Ascendant
since 2000-10-03
Posts 5918Canada |
ABSOLUTELY STUNNING!!! I am left in awe of the vision you have painted. By the way...52 is far from old...maybe new dreams you will yet weave. **hugs**   Love I leave with you whether it is in your life now or yet the essense of your dreams. |
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