There is no "red spot" quite comparable to a drop of blood, no "paint" so telling as a bloodstain, whether it be on Gessoed canvas, linen, or bleached cotton. I can't explain all that brought me back to the following poem...I have been obsessing a bit about Orion's movement across the winter sky, the prompt has elements within it that may be interpreted as somehow connected, but, yeah, there's more to it than that. In any event, the first draft of this was written over twenty years ago about events that occurred a dozen years prior to that, so please don't think I'm about to engage in any sort of blood-letting. I'm just...haunted.
Hunted: A Poem from The Nadir
By Lemuel Crouse
cold and penetrating--
an icy arrow shot by him
who hunts the frozen winter sky.
Cold, too, are faces
that seem to look intently
but do not see within the silent man
the whimpering child.
Today I am hunted--
haunted, some would say--
but they have not seen the smiling terror
which stalks my dreams.
The sun is cold today--
cold and glowing--
an endless bright night
devoid of blessed, concealing darkness.
Cold, too, are lungs
that burn but still
are not consumed by flames
from the longed-for final fire.
avoiding, some would say--
but they have not been served
a draught from the well of hell.
The sun is cold today--
cold and unredemptive--
a puppet knight crucified on the clouds,
unable to save himself, let alone me.
Cold, too, are words
which sound the hollow knell of faith
and smell of bitter ashes
blown down from hope’s cremation.
Today I am alone--
selfish, some would say--
but they have not felt this searing sting,
this thrust from a trusted sword.
(Additional images: stock photo of the Orion constellation; my pic of winter sun setting)
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15 comments:
This here is SOME haunting. I had to go and read it aloud and feel the words. I'm so glad I stopped at my computer on the way to my art table, just in case... And I DID get a chill inside. Thank you for setting the stage as twenty years ago or I probably would given pause to your state of mind just now.
Awesome, in the OLD-FASHIONED use of the word.
...Unredemptive sun - I've felt that cold light before too...
We think alike, eh Mike?
Was Crouse dying of cancer? That fifth stanza really seems to be dying for a last smoke!
I think your poem is extremely expressive. I am sad this is inside you and I am happy you were able to write about it so clearly. I hope it helped, even a little. Shine on, Carolina Linthead, shine on.
I'm still reading this
that cold sun is so evocative...def a felt verse doc...thanks for the chill before bed...and i hope tomorrow brings a bit of warmth...
I like the entire poem but love this stanza:
The sun is cold today--
cold and unredemptive--
a puppet knight crucified on the clouds,
unable to save himself, let alone me
Amazing what a blotch of red will produce...chilling in more ways than one...really enjoyed this one.
I was feeling this to my bones.
A good write.
=)
This one pulls things from the deep and chills the parts. Superb writing.
Chilling, raw, powerful write Dr. L...one of your best...
Thank you, my friends...sharing this is a bit like dying and being reborn...
Love, Michael
Superb writing - hope the sun warms you soon.
Anna :o]
Love the idea of the sun as an endless bright night. Some fine images here.
Winter -- and winter's sky -- ARE haunting. But only if you're paying attention.
:-)
Greetings from Minneapolis!
Pearl
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