Alternate Libation

I remember I interpreted this poem as going to a place in memories and finding it sweet, and then going there in person to find it decayed. Reading it again, now, I can't help but feel that I'm missing something...

starting the poem with downward decent, adding "long before eyes opened" puts in a dream like quality

I walked down the hill today

long before eyes opened

sat under cedars, gives a sense of scale to the trees, without being descriptive of them in general, for some reason I have taken note of colours a lot in poems of late, "limestone blocks of grey" give it a kind of off kilter pitch,

"spring house walls", and "water runs sweet, indicate to me that this is a happy kind of dream, in the first stanza. there is so much happening in this sonically long "Oo" in roof, through, roof's, ru-ins, "Ee" cedars, beside, sweet, retreat, the words just resonate with each other adding a musicality that is subtle but adds depth.

sat under cedars

beside limestone blocks of grey

spring house walls, roof long gone

where water still runs sweet

through ruins of roofs retreat

Looks like we have looped back to the start , the change to 'fore dawn' adds an element of foreboding that this time things aren't as sweet as they seemed, the switch to archaic is a second line of off kilter word choice but for me highlights a change.

deep basin filled with silt, for me shows the "sweet water" is gone,

the link of balls, for a man generally is a direct link to his masculinity, like an internal challenge, so if the N could just clear it then sweet water is going to flow again

balls, crawl

claustrophobic walls, harsh a sounds that hammer a point home, the word claustrophobic brings to mind compression, like the walls are going to crush the N

which is re-hashed with "press of stone found there" the rhyme scheme with raised hackles in my hair nearly does that to me sitting in my chair, as if those walls might just crush me.

I walked down the hill 'fore dawn

to a deep basin filled with silt

knowing I could clear it all

if I just had the balls to crawl

inside those claustrophobic walls

knee deep in mud and scoop

but the press of stone found there

raised hackles in my hair

final lines address that it was actually a dream, but not a good one, cold sweats, from all that stone, crushing, compressing, final line says it all, even if it is a mis-spell (butters) no one likes fluoridated city water, but if it keeps us away from those god damn blocks of death then I'll drink to that

woke me up, chilled, feverish

craving a tall glass

of fluorinated city water

I want to write like this. Words that take on a life of there own and flow seamlessly off the page. Great job, HH.

Great alliteration. The description in this poem gives some real feel to it.Very nice.

Hey, it even brings me some memories.