Where the Gnomes Live

an attempt at iambic blank verse

If you were ten and sitting on that beach

And your father was at home cutting grass

And mother, in her apron, carving ham

You would notice the fungus on the tree

Spiraled around in a stair-step pattern

And you would notice where it led,

To a tiny hole about the length of your thumb

And imagine this was where the gnomes lived,

In a hollowed out tree beside your lake

And on his way to work

Papa gnome would hop down eight fungi-steps

and return every evening at five

To Mama and the babes.  And you, sitting

On the beach, scratch gnome names into the sand

And watch the noon sun season

The lake with gold.  And wonder

If the gnomes ever watched

From their home in the hollowed out tree.

 

If you were ten and sitting on that beach

Thinking about the gnome world you wouldn't

Notice what lay next to you until you stuck

Your hand in it, felt the sticky oozing goo,

Saw the white bubbling insides and greasy

Listless feathers of a gutted black bird.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

Wellll....it's not really iambic pentameter, as several of the lines are off-meter. The flow is a little off in spots, there are places where it doesn't read smoothly (at least to my ear). Still, there is a great deal to like about this piece: the imagery is fresh and imaginative, there is some lovely alliteration (e.g., "Sprialed around in a stair-step pattern", "noon sun season") and the interplay between the fantasy of gnomes and the reality of the dead bird is presented wonderfully. As it stands, the piece certainly needs no apologies. With some structural tweaks, it could be something truly special.

[mysticgmekeepr]

the gnomes live in the woods around our pond, but I hope they don't harbor dead blackbirds or at least I hope we don't stick our hands into the lifeless goo on one of our adventures.