Father of gunmetal, fingers and sap
kneeling to the blood-red of our faces
from my formaldehyde Grandfather,
in the black elms, a crown of sun pencils
on white skin, now the eyes I find of the lagoon
were treed in artichoke; father’s eyes are mine,
the shore is from the foolish matriarch, babushka’s daughter
and herself.
Occam’s razor had slit feet: bloodlines cannot drown us
from ancestor or ancestress to become their very worst.
Sand-thrown, gallows cripple upon the neck
the eyes that hanged upon father’s head,
burning, gnawing,
into the oak’s edge of wasteland knees
creaking and cracking to a child of stone,
less moonlight on the prey,
the swoon its death will bring, gripping no sea to swim
or ankle to grab quaked with sparred skins; steppes void
in ox eyes, a ghost of dead men,
what fools we must be to believe
that these things can change.
© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the dVerse prompt. I chose prompt 1.
51 responses to “eyes of the lagoon.”
Though it made me shiver, it is good.
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Thank you!
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😊🌷You are welcome
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love the darkness of this. very Edgar Allen Poe. had me wanting to lisern to my favourite rendition of the raven.
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Thank you so very much. Poe is one of my favorite poets, and to be compared to him is truly a compliment that stuns me. Thank you! ❤ ❤
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🤘👍
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This is so well-written, Lucy. The savagery of bloodlines, the hunted and the prey, “steppes void/in ox eyes” — all evoke that hopeless sense of uninterrupted cycles.
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Oh, I thank you Dora so much.
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Fools and hope walk hand in hand. Most of the time it’s enough…
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Indeed, indeed.
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🙂
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Just as madness and genius lock arms, and love & lust share the same skin, your gothic filters find darkness at noon, and death in half-eaten grapefruits (which is unique, and clings to you wonderfully). I liked,”a crown of sun-pencils on white skin”–marvelous take on sun shafts of light.
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Thank you so much and more, Glenn.
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Great poem. I really liked this Lucy.
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Thank you, Peter.
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We can’t stop leaving those ghosts in our wake…(K)
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They can follow us throughout life.
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This is a fabulous ghoulish poem. Love the bloodlines, ox eyes, and specially this part:
the eyes that hanged upon father’s head
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Thank you, Grace!
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Edgar Allen Poe would be proud of you, Lucy! Brilliant piece.
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Thank you! ❤
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Most welcome, Lucy!
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I love the visual images and the metaphorical images in you poem. The pond with eye all around of every kind. And the thought that only a fool would believe you could change the cycle of nature. Very well done as always!
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Thank you, Dwight. 🙂
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You are welcome.
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Lucy , masterpiece👍🏻
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Thank you so very much!
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You’re alwayss welcomee👍🏻
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💕
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Such a striking description of a ghostly kind of heredity. I LOVE ‘my formaldehyde Grandfather’ – so eye-catching 👁👌
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How did I miss this lovely comment? My apologies, Ingrid. I thank you so much for your kind words and feedback. I’m so glad you could enjoy this piece.
Happy holidays in the snowball in hell way. ❤️❤️❤️
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Thanks Lucy! Wishing you all the best for the new year 😊
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To you as well. May 2021 be a bit better than 2020. Cheers!
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“Father of gunmetal” and I automatically imagined some cowboy movie for some reason. Love this poem
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Hahaha, that’s interesting! Thank you. ❤️
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Among the darkness of gunmetal and formaldehyde there is a beautiful lit-up moment, Lucy, which lends this poem its delicacy, the image in ‘a crown of sun pencils on white skin’. I also love the Gothic richness of the lines:
‘Sand-thrown, gallows cripple upon the neck
the eyes that hanged upon father’s head,
burning, gnawing,
into the oak’s edge of wasteland knees
creaking and cracking to a child of stone’.
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Thank you so very much, Kim!
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I’m imagining a father or grandfather who was hanged and the narrator having more sympathy with them than with the soft female heritage.
‘in the black elms, a crown of sun pencils on white skin,’ —I love that image.
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Thank you, Jane. 🙂
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An extraordinary poem (as always!). And in the midst of all that’s dark and deathly, I was captivated by “in the black elms, a crown of sun pencils”. All I can say is, YES!
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Thank you so much! 😃
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Poe came to mind, and Nick Cave, that darkness of life as it is with no hope of change in the human condition, gritty and powerful.
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Thank you!
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Most welcome
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So many exquisite descriptions to indulge in….”treed in artichoke” , “oak’s edge of wasteland knees”, “ox eyes” and “quaked with sparred skins”. I like the dark side that “eyes” took you to.
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Thank you very much, Mish!
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What a fool I must be.
And how wonderful this was. ❤
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Thank you. 💗
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can feel the soul of Poe in your lines
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Oh wow, thank you so very much. Poe is my poetry hero. 🙂
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it shows!!
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