- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Irish Wake Table
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Click hereWe covered with a tablecloth
knots that looked like liver spots
and leveled two of the legs with shims,
reminding us of a dead uncle
who, even in the heat of summer,
tottered in his long sleeve shirt.
While we dined on blackened salmon
and drank claret in candlelight
we also spoke of women mourning
whose rosary beads rattled midnight
when they keened around the table
in their blackest hour shawls
who nonetheless, Aunt Katherine said,
also diapered babies there
as once we did with Elizabeth,
the smell of whom would have pleased them more
than votive flames and Cavendish smoke
from clay pipes pointing towards heaven.
- COMMENTS
UnderYourSpellabout 13 years agobest table poem I've ever read! Seriously though your descriptions are flawless
buttersabout 13 years agoreading you always leaves me feeling a novice.
so damned visual, gm, even the table-cloth over the table serving dual-time imagery as a shroud over a liver-spotted corpse...
blackened salmon and claret add to the senses-trip you create, with colours/textures/flavours
a tour-de-force of the senses when you include the sounds of the rosary beads being counted and the keening of the women...
vrosej10about 13 years agoGood poem Green. Got five and a recommend. You lost me a little in the last stanza, but hey, it's probably me.
