drought
earth cracked and dry
like the skin on my knuckles
the only difference
is the blood that seeps
through my skin
signs of life
cannot be mistaken
as proof of growth
sapped out seedlings
burn bury burn
crackle crumble
the will to live survives
the pain of scorch in
this desert of days
moisture moves
beneath the surface
with a ripple and a whorl
as the weight of memory
pulls me under
.
.
.
July 8th, 2012 at 10:16 am
Here the inner world mirrors the outer, and the dessication kills. The last lines hold out a bit of hope that somewhere there is an escape. You’re word by word construction of the emotional mirror which reflects back the scorch of the physical is faultless. Second stanza rules.
July 8th, 2012 at 10:17 am
“signs of life cannot be mistaken as proof of growth.” truth, truth, truth.
July 8th, 2012 at 10:34 am
the will to live survives… and there are those channels of moisture that we often only remember when the drought almost chokes us… like all the images in this..
July 8th, 2012 at 10:52 am
leave it to you make dehydration of the earth into a morning philosophy lesson. lovely. as always. i am your ardent fan.
July 8th, 2012 at 3:28 pm
Sometimes life gets so hot that it seems like you won’t make it….but even in the harshest of droughts life still remains- this is what I took from this awesome poem…(even if that wasn’t your expressed intention!)… We all get scorched from time to time don’t we?…loving your work….always!
July 8th, 2012 at 3:40 pm
Your examination fills me with a sense of the boundlessness of connection. I had a dream last night that was more like a mantra: micro-, meso-, and macro-cosms are one. This phrase repeated in variations and I woke up saying OKAY, I hear you. Apparently I needed another mirror today through your magnificent poetry. Thank you.
July 8th, 2012 at 3:56 pm
“the will to live survives
the pain of scorch in
this desert of days”
Will a rescue come, will the blood rise again? Oh I hope so, you give me hope that under the outer show, something still breaths.
Beautifully written to pull me in.
July 8th, 2012 at 7:26 pm
Lovely share ~ I specially like the last stanza …memory pulling me under~
July 8th, 2012 at 9:58 pm
signs of life
cannot be mistaken
as proof of growth
dang tight stanza that…and the weight of memory pulling you under…evocative…drought is surely a killer…
July 9th, 2012 at 8:02 am
Hauntingly beautiful. Mesmerizing – both words and image.
July 9th, 2012 at 9:08 am
I needed this. You have no idea how much.
July 9th, 2012 at 2:06 pm
blood from your knuckles to moisture beneath the surface. great connections beginning to end. and the very center of your piece had my throat parched. burn bury burn, crackle crumble. very effective poetry.
July 9th, 2012 at 6:58 pm
ditto to Debi’s response. ‘signs of life cannot….”
as always, worth my time to come read.
in fondest..tilda
July 11th, 2012 at 9:09 pm
So much meaning to this poem. I can feel it to my core.