Saturday, October 29, 2005

The Phoenix in Tucson

It is that my life
Grew strong this seedling.
Residue down when
Winter limbs knurling,
Naked claws the brash
Winter sky slow, soft
Scratches on itchy
Dusk’s knobby spine clouds.

But I in my fell
Passion scorched the dark
Night close, day wide bright
And set to this tree
Fire that consuming
Left blackened stump.


Aristocrat said...

Thank you for dropping by, Russell. It's my pleasure.

And your 55er seems to have a very interesting sentence structure, I'm still trying to figure it out lol...

Sue hardy-Dawson said...

Ahh three great poems Russel, particularly love serial sadness but great use of 55 words and both quite different

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks aristocrat! Enjoyed dropping by your blog too!

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks Sue! The last 55er is a metrical sonnet to boot! Glad you enjoyed Serial Sadness. I'm scaring myself with this confessional poetry.

. : A : . said...

I like the dark twist in this one. Well done again.

Have added it to the post.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks .:A:.! Glad you could spot something sparkling in the dark!

gulnaz said...

wonderful! the clipped tone of the poem is in sync with the dark mood of it. its wonderful how you do it.
the second stanza is memerising in its pathos.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks a lot for the great comments, Gulnaz! You can't imagine how good your words make me feel!