Guest Poet Nancy M. Hill
A Trickster's Sky
Grey,
the inconsolable sky squeezes,
contracts around me like a mother's laboured pain
pressing inward its raw, damp fear;
rain,
nothing more than mist, really,
gathers on a tin roof,
trickling soundlessly earthward. . .
its voiceless authority
draws all warmth from within me.
Nameless,
clenching
writhings
rise unbidden from my soul's foundation. . .
tears fall thicker than the rain mistings.
I ache
for the want of you.
And the Universe is still ever the Trickster's companion
. . . even Lazarus laughs
July, 2001
Nancy M. Hill's Questions:
1. Are the allusions in the last two lines ambiguous so as not to be understood?
2. Do I establish the mood of loss?
3. Any general comments or feedback on the form are welcomed.
[his fields lie fallow]
His fields lie fallow
no clod upturned to breathe
spring's incarnation through fervent soil
grains of life.
Agéd tractor rusted by
rests with engine dormant
kept company with dusty, unsharpened tools
devoted,
patient for the return.
Vines
tended, trained
range to feral climes,
searching.
Dented old truck
engraved by hewn boughs,
a rake flung hastily,
smells rich of loamy compost.
Expectant
furling flag half-masted
over hummocks
effusive with neglect,
beckons
discloses.
His fields lie fallow,
pausing
mid-season for the return.
Even so,
how do you tell a clod of earth
or knitted vines
the guardian too
lies fallow in the field.
July, 2001
Nancy M. Hill's Questions:
1. Is the tone reverent for the death I am remembering?
2. Is the imagery clear to you?
3. How do the first and last of the poem affect you?
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