collab

Thursday, April 27, 2023

Valley Of Proud Men



 Valley of Proud Men



Sorrowed down
In the dirt of an unbloomed rose
I seek the light of a moon so weak
It cannot lift it's head.

What made me think
        I could find my way
Out of
This treacherous valley?

Where blood and bone
Have gone to ash
And dreams
Have turned to dust?

I hear the cries of moaning men
Their specks of life 
Snatched up by dogs
And buried under ground.

The whispers of the Old Ones rise
In the mouths of angry crows
And when they fly, the sky turns black
Like an endless, celestial sea.

I am an apparition now
Not dead or alive, not breathing breath
The ghosts of bison run me down
And the wolves devour my heart.

See them roaming
The tired brown earth?
Looking for flesh
        Of tired proud men?

The proud men 
Are all gone now
They live in memory
On the eyelids of the dead.

This is the place of massacre,
The land of boiling blood,
The resting place of those
Who cannot rest in death.

And I, you ask me, who am I?
I am the future that never was
The yesterday that died unborn
And the tomorrow that never came.

I am the nightmare
And eyeless vision,
Bitter water pooling forth
From the chasms of the earth.

Searching for the tall, green corn
And drums that beat for dancing
Riding on the backs of beasts
That no longer dare to fly.

I am the voice of children, silenced
And the howl of wolves, unheard
I am the desolation falling
That blankets out the sun.

Ride with me, my angry crow!
My hungry dog, my empty bow!
Ride with me on the bones of steeds
        Lying buried in the dust.

The mountains taunt me with their crowns
Stretching arms of evergreen
Point to splendor on their peaks
        Made virgin white with snow.

Calling me with teasing smile
To stand and walk the walk of men
The talking trees command me Come
And cool my fever with singing wind.

And I reach forth my eager hands
As seasons change and crawl away
Again and again seeking reprieve 
Touching my lips to the face of the sky.

The horse neighs,
The crow caws, the dog growls and sighs
As over and again, 
My hands fall to my side.

For the valley won't let me go
The valley won't let me go
I'm the shadow in the valley
Of the shadow of Death
And the valley won't let me go.







©by Voo
June 28, 10
7 p.m.

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The Trunk

 





The Trunk


Unbuttoned buttons
Falling out of an old trunk
Stuffed with mildewed lace
And blue ribbons barely
Holding together ancient love letters
Browned with age and turning to dust
At a touch
There, a faded photograph lies
'Neath cobwebby frames and old air
Remnants of a life long dead
A love still living in a distant past
I hear the sweetness of a tiny bit of violin
Muffled girlish laughter
Shoes with elaborate bows dancing dainty steps
As the face in the photograph looks down
From his towering height into shining blue eyes
A pocket watch with exquisite chain of gold
A lock of auburn hair inside a locket
A pressed flower so old, I cannot tell what it had been
A book of Keats, it's sanctuary
And a prayer book with a scribbled prayer in spidery hand
"Please, please, please, dear Lord
Let this be the night he asks me!"
Underneath a wedding veil, a Bible with crumbling cover
Inside, the marriage recorded for all the world to see
Oh, happy, happy day! She has written in bold letters
And I feel the joy and smile at her rejoicing
In a brocaded box, a baby's tooth, a curl tied with thread
A christening dress, what used to be a doll
With reverent hands I pull the items towards me
Breathe in the musty memories they eminate
And gently place them back inside the trunk
In the corner, stuck inside a seam, I see a picture
Creased and faded almost into non existence
The woman's blue eyes, still shining, still full of love
Sitting in a rocking chair, holding a doll
As though it was her sole salvation
No gown of yellow adorned her frame
And I could not hear the violin's tender trill
But I knew that it was her
And for a moment, it flashed into my mind
That she could see me seeing her
See me holding the remnants of her life
Celebrating her little victories
And great, great losses
Now silently announced by the ugly black dress
And by an unspeakable sorrow on a yet young face
"I'm so sorry." I whisper
And close the trunk in slow retreat
Passing an ancient mirror standing like a portal
To another world in that dusty, forgotten attic
I catch a glimpse of my own face surrounded by untidy curls
With similar eyes and inherited sadnesses
It is her face there staring back at me
"It is our face." I think and touch my rounded belly
With a new mother's hands
Perhaps, it'll be her face, too. And I'll bring her here
To see where she came from, how strong the genes imparted
How thick the blood, how deep the love that survives the sorrow
Down through the ages
And imprinted on the cherished things she touched
Almost disintegrated now
But living still
Inside that dusty trunk.





















©by Voo
May 14, 07
3 p.m.