- Non-Erotic Poetry
- A-se-quu-i tsi-s-qua
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Click hereEyes of grey wolf
follow the dull scraping
of a slow cellar door,
haunting a decrepit stair.
Piles of harvest leaves
from a dying orchard rustle
as silent headstones mark
time in death's consecration.
Time bestirs its dark cranny as
a sudden quivering overtakes
his carnal native wisdom .
Faintly , he hears an elder chant;
"Waya, `ga no `lv `sga u yv tlv'.
In Harmony his spirit sings,
'This bone yard be no friend
of coyotes and old hounds,
specially old shapeshifting
drifters like us..."
So dark eyes drift toward the
stars blessing stellar emanations
and red loam of mortality
soars upon winds of eagles..
- COMMENTS
Amyfriendover 17 years agoSorry, I didn't follow the Tribal language...even though I played "Pocahontas" once in a school play, but they spoke the Powhatan language.
duddle146over 17 years agoA dying language ~ once florished vibrant and alive. The passage of time ~ changes everything.
Anonymousover 18 years agoLike your vocabulary. Occasionally more provacative than precise, but not unsuccessfully so. Easy.
Bill Dadaover 18 years agoYou only get a 4 because of dashes and spaces? The poetry police march on. Maybe it's just me, but I thought poetry was about breaking some of the rules. I never got the dashes and spaces memo.
Anonymousalmost 19 years agoin the 'slow' thing, and here as well. It is different
look behind the cellar door. sand
sackalmost 19 years agoWithout being precociously clever, which this poem could have easily become in more amateurish hands. Thanks for sharing!
dcpoet44almost 19 years agothat says....nice imagery, and if i may take a stab with a interpretation, i had sense it is related to a possible burial ground. the give away words are *bone yard* now as far as the situation with how the title appeared and how it is relayed in the other comment. i'm assuming you did it like that so one could pronounce it out. i haven't yet done a whole lof or research but i'm an 1/8 and i should know more than i do. i like this the best and it helps solidify my thought:
Piles of harvest leaves
from a dying orchard rustle
as silent headstones mark
time in death's consecration.
******
nicely done......don
My Erotic Talealmost 19 years agosprinkled with the charm of the witty word wizard, blue <grin>
