we Met by grey 18th-century houses
with guns in our waistcoat pockets and
bombs down our breeches
we Walked for miles
up and down cobbled hills
through squares and graveyards
the sweat on my upper lip
Unglued my fake mustache
by a victorian crescent we finally Stopped
Sat on benches and Stared
at the wide architectural arch
where a young poet and an accomplished lady had Lived
he Died
in rome
she Died
in bed
when our historical voyeurism Was finished
we Unleashed our little chaos
homemade chemicals
handfuls of anarchy
under the cold winter sun
our bullets Broke bones
and flesh
our bombs Burst bright
like flares
windows Sh a tter ed
crystalline
waterfalls
Cascading
down
on wailing children in bloodied
bonnets
a greenish smokescreen
an echo chamber
of banging petards
through which we Ran
like wild game
eyes stinging
our mouths smothered
with handkerchiefs
my kind of sunday
5 comments:
mmm I revel in how you literally shattered the word sh a tter ed, there is so much slymnidy, yet it comes naturally to you...
I agree with the above comment. I do believe that the great amount of slymnidy is of magnificent taste. However, there might even be even too much slymnidy, for the prolixity of the poem's imagery is quite demanding upon the adequate functioning of the hierophonic-synechdochic elements. "Anonymous" (the first if I may say) is therefore correct, and incorrect, as well as partially, if not egregiously neutral. Your tact is superb, yet quite flawed if not stimulating in its own regard. As for the "Winter Sun", I believe it is quite a fitting title for the poem; for it is as cold as the winter and as blindingly unpleasant as the sun's gamma rays (which therefore cause me ionizing radiation and cell damage which may never be repaired).
For all it's worth, I must say that the image doesn't have to depend on symbolic content at all, but rather on the 'emptiness in-between', therefore I relinquish to say the slymnodic elements remain quite intact, despite your very 'pointy' criticism.
As far as the the "Winter Sun" argument, I must criticize my critic and state that he took the poetry away from it as soon as he mentionned skin cancer.
what does slymnidy mean either anonymous critic?
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