Saturday, March 29, 2014

Secrets


Secrets




There are things that we kept secret
after the bomb,
when the terrible shaking
in the walls
left with the walls,
when those falling from the towers
dropped like bloody rain
 on streets
cobbled with skulls.

Tangled in the cold
maneuvered moonlight
louvered through a broken
window pane,
globes of frozen being
in the half-light
kept close the face
the  secret soul, the name,
the blame.

The things that we kept secret
were salvation
or damnation,
how we thought we saved ourselves
and why we tried,
how the darkness that we ate
became our master.
The sickness  at the heart 
came when we died.
 
 

~March 2014 




 posted for     real toads
Weekend Mini-Challenge
Kerry O'Connor asks us to complete an enigmatic phrase, and I have done so, without, I hope, revealing any secrets






photo credit: Toni Blay via photopin cc

29 comments:

  1. whew...vivid opening....made me think back to 9/11 when the jumpers were hitting...shivers...
    secrets are brutal things...damnation or salvation...we might have the best intentions
    but still they catch up to us...in the heart...

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  2. Whoa. A surprise. Very powerful . I think in some ways the subtlest yet revealing lines-- when the terrible shaking in the walls left with the walls. I'm sorry on ohone so can't do line breaks-- but it brings up that kind of desperation that leads one to do terrible dark things as are hinted at throughout the poem and especially the end. As a side note-- maneuvered and louvered great internal rhymes. K.

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  3. I was really hoping someone would take the prompt in this kind of direction and you have not disappointed. This is an excellent post-war portrait of a fractured society looking to place blame and giving up on ever knowing the name of salvation. Karin has pointed out your subtle rhymes, which make this a signature piece.

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    1. PS. That Viking chick rocks, doesn't she! I'm sure you're as much of an addict as I am :-)

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    2. I am loving it! Very pleased to hear it was renewed for a third season. I love the way they have made the green but sparse Irish countryside seem so Norse, too.

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  4. the powerful lines remind me of all those illicit clandestine organisations active in my country and other places...'The things that we kept secret/ were salvation/or damnation,' ring so true in this context.....


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  5. Only as sick as our secrets, eh, and the national ones of Sept. 11 we were fed have made us darkly ill, creatures of a fear and foreboding that have amplified, powered by all those broken skulls ... What is their true face, their name, the true blame? What was wreaked that was not invoked? And having stepped massively one way after the attack, how can any step since not be wrong? Fear of falling, fear of losing all, fear of death -- things perhaps our American Dream has kept stashed away under lock and key, under the opiate fields outside Oz. Tightly wrought and hard fought for, Hedge. We've got to write more stuff like this.

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    1. Thank you, B. What was wreaked that was not invoked, indeed.That should, and well could, be our epitaph

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  6. Beautiful as usual! I love the post-war element being a big fan of post-apocalyptic scenarios. Coming here is always a guarantee of great reading. :)

    Kiss. <3

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  7. I am probably way off here, but this makes me think of all the freedoms we lost, in order to "protect our freedoms". The darkness that we ate--hell, wolfed down--has indeed become our master.

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  8. "...how the darkness that we ate became our master..." I think that is a line I will never forget.

    Unforgettable poem full of emotion. Well done.

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  9. Like Brian this also made me think of 911, those horrific images that I could only watch once . . . which was too much. Powerful strong piece.

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  10. This is brutally vivid, sharp, and smart. The rhyme work is outstanding.

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  11. how the darkness that we ate
    became our master.
    The sickness at the heart
    came when we died.

    Such strong and powerful lines. Absolute treat to read this.

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  12. My thoughts went to Hiroshima.. somehow despite all cruelties of war it stands out to the point of no return in warfare.. the images you paint of the bomb.. but I guess that it all goes back to what we never says afterwards.. when the thorns remain in the heart.. those secrets that might be salvation or doom... (I think my poem might have similar thoughts).. or maybe it was just the way I read it.

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  13. This is just an incredible line:
    "Tangled in the cold
    maneuvered moonlight
    louvered through a broken
    window pane"

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    1. I woke up with that one in my head,DE--sometimes it just works that way, I guess. Thanks.

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  14. My father-in-law walked through Hiroshima after the bombing...He spoke very little about what he saw, but I feel you have captured it with your words. Powerful

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  15. I, too, thought of 9/11. The lines " how the darkness that we ate/became our master," is gutwrenching.

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  16. This is another poem of yours that is so good read aloud. I'm especially attracted to the third stanza. It puts me in mind of the people of faith who questioned that faith after 9/11, which is potentially a good thing. Another dimension is added when you include the consumed darkness that becomes "our master". I think of the sick, rotten underbelly of American dreams and ideals.

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    1. Thanks, Mark. Yes, the underbelly of darkness is not a good place. I do need to do more readings--I am about out of my free time on SoundCloud, but surely there are other options--I'm just lazy.

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  17. tapping my spine with your mind Hedge:
    dripping, like saline
    feeling like serotonin:
    how the darkness that we ate
    became our master.
    some things are better spat,
    digesting the darkness can make a black hole of the heart . . .

    or incredible art!

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    1. Yes indeed--better to go hungry, I think. Thanks, Arron--you know it means all the more coming from you.

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  18. whoa, Hedgewitch. sooooo telling, so strong. when the shaking in the walls left with the walls. WOW.

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  19. EVERY phrase you complete is enigmatic, so whats new?

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    1. Hey--it's my job. Its what I do. ;_) Glad to know you are still around for me to torment, G.

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  20. Profound, tough... and gnarly as a twisted yew. Loved it.

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  21. Powerful, visceral ... I felt this in my gut.

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  22. that was the last vestiges of representative democracy thudding (not to hijack your poem) ~

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg