Sunday, February 12, 2017

February 12, 2017 Sunday's Whirligig #98 -- Poets United Poets Pantry -- The Sunday Whirl #286/Familiar Melody

Familiar Melody

burlap or hair shirt     scratches the skin          bread and butter

gutted and skinned     the unforgiven                riding his pony

hidden canyons            a holy silence      as if the rider was the first

returning home            face covered                  singing songs

like cowboys in the old west      melody familiar        voice resounds

echoes against red rocks   sits upright in the saddle    speaks not a word

this is not unusual          a boy leaves home                    much later...

returns to his roots         ragged and worn                       a boy no more

still...not quite a man     challenges met                          a few gray strands

in his light brown hair   singing new songs                    new rhythms

a ferocity in his eyes      he has seen much           the world is not always kind

the path rugged              he sits on the stool                   by the front door

a poet now                     writing his own songs              a familiar melody

February 12, 2017


C.C. said...

The inclusion of sensory stuff---like the burlap scratching the skin, the echoes against red rocks and the grey strands that have added to his hair over the years....makes this such an easy scene to picture.

brudberg said...

This is like a magic tale... like a manhood ritual.. love that it's the birth of a poet.

Mary said...

This poem, like his life, goes full circle!

Iris said...

I don't quite know why, but I love this section:

"bread and butter
gutted and skinned
the unforgiven
riding his pony"

Wendy Bourke said...

I really enjoyed what was (for me) an unusual form. I found it very organic and synergistic with the content. The piece is very well drawn (it actually reminded me, a bit, of my brother ... and here, I thought he was a one-of ~ha~) And the close is WONDER-FULL!

Old Egg said...

This is quite beautiful and would I guess be full of poignant familiarity of what could have been.

Sumana Roy said...

a few gray strands, ferocity in the eyes, the path rugged, & an unkind world are elements needed to enrich a wonder the life bursts forth in songs, so original...

Susan said...

Your poem brings to mind that song: "I spoke not a word ..." with the cowboy going to his grave rather than dishonor the woman in the long black veil. Yours remains alive, but deepened, silenced, reflective. How else can one be after facing the violence we do to each other?

ayala said...

Lovely share!

Sanaa Rizvi said...

This is soo tender so beautifully written.

Pat B said...

"hidden canyons a holy silence as if the rider was the first" beautiful, and I have felt that sensation when being out in nature