Singularity
History,
tried to teach
me about itself
and get me to call out
its glorious name and fly
flags of countries long
dead but
it was not in me to
salute the smashed
bones of dead
soldiers and sailors and saviours.
I think there is
a connection between
all things, a wire
incandescent and white light
passes through it but we
make it black
with our stale breath and
rotting thoughts.
My eyes and your eyes
saw the end
before and we know we
will again and we'll
kiss madly the soliders
and sailors and saviours that pass
into our view, but we
make them black with our
sterilizing eyes and spit
Formaldehyde until our lungs
are empty.
(There is
a connection between us
even though it is small,
a tiny lapel-pin,
and not noticeable.)
History,
tried to tell me its
name but I wouldn't listen and
I won't. There are too many
stories and songs to let just a deluge
of blood and bones flood
my ears.
There is a connection between us don't
sing me songs of the dead.
They tried to tell
me what it was but
I am deaf, oh
what are we but
bits of stars and ends of
universes?
--------------------------------------------------------------
Well, there you go. As you can see, snobby Kalinka is in full force here. Hope it's not too off-putting.
Love,
Kalinka.
3 comments:
Kalinka Blue has just earned another wicked point.You noe have 100,000,000 cool points in jesse's book.Any more and my head might explode.
BOOM!,
Jesse
You are posting entirely too much lately. I don't think that I can keep up with you; what with me doing most, if not all, of my "blogging" from my work computer and with all the people who can't use the internets interrupting me in the middle of my commenting. And because of that I lose my train of thought and end up writing error-ridden piles of words.
But enough about my problems.
I think that this poem is about how history tells the story of the tragities of past wars and how they could've been avoided but also how we are too invovled in our present to listen and learn.
As usual, I admit my own limitations and steel myself for the possiblity that I'm wrong.
Ready for anything,
Marr Vell
I think you've come close to it Marr.
I wrote this poem backwards, sort of. I started with the last line and tied it into my own confusion surrounding history as an anchor and a topic for the poem.
There you go,
KB.
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