Monday, September 03, 2007

bereft

she stumbles across the dance floor of the moon
having failed to hear the music
she cannot soar and sway
in the sparkle of starlight
she looks for pieces of broken glass
her beast is blind and cannot find them
even though they pain her ancient shuffle
her mind cannot paint a picture
nor her ear transcend
the clank of fork and spoon
nor the hungry growl of her beast
for whom she so urgently
cuts her bread
blindly leaving huge gashes
glaring open
in the tablecloth of the night

she carries cold discomfort
which no blanket can warm
and no pillow can make rest easy

sated – her sleep is profound
as the death she fears
but not easy
there is no waltz
over smooth marble
to glide the night away

8 comments:

gautami tripathy said...

"she carries cold discomfort
which no blanket can warm
and no pillow can make rest easy"

I have known that....

Russell Ragsdale said...

Hi Gautami! I am sorry to hear you have known such difficulties. Thanks for commenting.

Pat Paulk said...

Man, oh man do you know how to paint a bleak portrait. I hope this isn't someone you know. Excellent poem on raw reality.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Unfortunatley Pat, it is an old friend who has lost her arm wrestle with time. Watching her reduced to uselessness is breaking my heart but makes me ask some serious questions about purpose, satisfaction, and the meaning of each breath we take. I have long believed poetry should leave the rare realms of warm fuzzy pretty much alone and talk more about the full range of life experiences. Thanks for the wonderful words, my friend.

Shubhodeep said...

fantastic once again...

her sleep is profound
as the death she fears
but not easy

ur thoughts are profound indeed...

p.s. two new poems up on my blog... do visit if you have time

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks shubhodeep! I'm glad you enjoyed this and am looking forward to seeing your new works.

Aurora said...

Life certainly presents a wide range of topics and experiences to write about, doesn't it, Russell? Unfortunately, so many of them are dark. Jane Kenyon believed it was the poet's responsiblity to write about these dark times as a means of comfort to those suffering likewise. I agree.

You did a bang-up job with this one. Kudos to you.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks Aurora! Much of that wide range you mention is also rather chalenging to do poetically yet, as you show with Kenyon's words, there is where the greatest need is. I too agree.

Thanks for those wonderful words, my sweet.