yet another song of green

yet another song of green

A Poem by A.M. Nelson
"

...I do plan on 'fixing' this.

"

yet another song of green. fables

yellow. grass red,

 

 

fish hassling the waters of the pond;

blue, crayon.

                bend the rainbow

backwards on its backbone, snap! the sound

upon the knee

 

kindle fire in-between finger-thumb

symbolism of an infant dead,

foreshortened life and death, as Donne

would inscribe his bones to the Earth;

a shallow grave our footsteps make,

upon the stepping, after step

that shortly you will meet the End.

 

flame retarded, (the) eyes

dancing outside the corona; sight.

 

visions of fury, then, swell like the Mother's breast.

and harbour them like yachts, who dine upon the sea

with milky white teeth, in-out, breaking waves

teeth gnashing teeth, lips bleed, surf spills:

crest my head upon a downy pillow.

i sleep inside an apple in a casket.

 

 

demons lair, silver hair, I dream inside

the demons hair.

 

and can you picture

the limbs of starry-eyed kids being swallowed

by a guillotine?

                       and are pigeons

the birds of message or the dinner meant for

hungry cats?

 

 

and fat I am from breathing air spooned

from golden arches. Bulging, smudged in grease,

surely soon to be deceased. colours sold

from rainbow broken, or just plundered

like the virgin pickle

                            

                                and I am of the thought

that in this void of black and white, the world

has been painted in the memory of green; of

blessed trees, or fruity reds, and sky hued blue

that, now, in neon decadence our eyes must

face the sight of a world without nature--

 

and all the things we see just some plastic rash,

products of unwholesome rainbow mimicry!

 

 

 

 

© 2008 A.M. Nelson


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Added on February 21, 2008

Author

A.M. Nelson
A.M. Nelson

Perth, Australia



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blog: deformedlion.blogspot.com i wish i was immortal. all you serious Poets should check out FreeWrights Peer Review...and maybe poetrycritical.net. Ode to Writerscafe: circle-jerk turkeys all c.. more..

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