Time whispered when he had eyes,
a deliberation of things,
songs, stories, a string of beads
islander made in equatorial days;
leaves, loaves, salad-making,
great roasts’ sizzling songs,
an unhurrying, yieldless time
of games, ghosts, gobs of things.
How when sentences finally came to be,
he read Cappy Ricks and the Green Pea Pirates,
his eye on the page, my ear on his tongue,
caesura was a bite of beer, a drink of cheese,
turning words like the roasts he made,
ever the savory succulent tongue,
but gone page wordless now.
Now! Now! Now Time strikes!
Hurricanes, lightning, days are crunching,
night is no longer a magician’s pail of stars
flung as sand on dark skies. The eyes are
closed, the mouth; echoes so long old,
when such songs cease their sounds.
Sprung from his loins wanting to be,
self-torn from his arms at some piece
of boyhood, I now remember earless,
wordless, the touch when lovely young,
and I know I roam forever
—
What’s your take on what you just read? Comment below or write a response and submit to us your own point of view or reaction here at the red box, below, which links to our submissions portal.
◊♦◊
Are you a first-time contributor to The Good Men Project? Submit here:
◊♦◊
Have you contributed before and have a Submittable account? Use our Quick Submit link here:
◊♦◊
Do you have previously published work that you would like to syndicate on The Good Men Project? Click here:
◊♦◊
Got Writer’s Block?
Sign up for our Writing Prompts email to receive writing inspiration in your inbox twice per week.
♦◊♦
We are a participatory media company. Join us.
Participate with the rest of the world, with the things your write and the things you say, and help co-create the world you want to live in.
If you believe in the work we are doing here at The Good Men Project, please join us as a Premium Member, today.
All Premium Members get to view The Good Men Project with NO ADS.
Need more info? A complete list of benefits is here.
—
This Post is republished on Medium.
—
Photo credit: iStock