Monday, May 2, 2011

Benjamin McGee (Try this form again)

Bats fly at night in moonlit steeples high
above the city street.  A cello breathes
a dirge on mists of fog.  A spade in dirt
creates a grave for one lone man asleep
from wine as red as blood just drained
from lambs out on the farm.  The song cries soft
to mourn the loss of Benjamin McGee.

No doubt a lonely widower he was,
but helped the poor each Monday morn before
the snow began.  It came like screaming ice
so fast her life had not a chance. He thought
he left her wood enough to make a blaze
that night.  He found her blue with frozen tears
under her blackened eyes.  He blamed himself
and was the death of Benjamin McGee.


Unknown said...

Dig the story. I love the details of this piece, especially the cello, spade, and "wood enough to make a blaze."

Excellent! :D

Penny said...

Heartwrenching poem. Well done.

Scott said...

Nice flow to this piece. Quick unrelated question: why KidDenverPoet?

S and J said...

' A cello breathes
a dirge on mists of fog. ' - my favourite words - just beautiful.

Kerry O'Connor said...

An intriguing tale and the iambic meter works well. I love the set up in the first stanza - such stark imagery.

Anonymous said...

This is so full of marvelous imagery, Henry. The story is sad, poignant and the rhythm just flows. I can almost hear it as a ballad...maybe Kenny Rogers with his scratchy voice.

I'm Just a Man (Recording Experiment ... I can't sing)

I am in the mood to change my tree to a cubic version.