as blood...

[Benjamin]

as blood from my torn fingernail

is lost among the dervish snow

I stagger from a wagging saw

to choke the mulcher's diesel wail,

and all my painful curses now

are heaped upon the stricken tree

that lies dismembered at my feet,

till like a salve I think of how

I climbed its boughs, hid in its leaves

and courted on a heart-shaped swing

my gentle lover in the spring,

no thought of rot or of disease

nor small brown faggots, that perhaps

will soak up mud on play-ground tracks

[David W. Parsley]

Benjamin, this poem touches a very sentimental strain in me. A nice fourteen-line poem with inventive rhyme scheme in tetrameter. But I'm afraid you sent me on a guilt trip. A good one.

 

- Dave

[dr_con]

Nice!

 

Juris&Dr.Con

 

ps- Guilt of brevity, supplemented with: Really fucking good!!

[Frank E Gibbard]

Wistful piece of fond rememberences, well crafted with some delightful wording. I have to point out the climbed it's boughs, hid in it's leaves, should be its. Frank

[Benjamin]

Must be a Freudian thing. Just checking to see if you're still there Frank