A vague trembling of stars

“I am the immense shadow of my tears” 
― Federico Garcia Lorca


I knew from the very beginning

The day would come

When the sun of the mountain

Would cast aside as a sacrifice,

The shadow on your bedroom wall

When you were a girl


I knew from the very beginning

That, in my heart there is no balm.

To fool me into complacency

This open-wound:

Weeps, stressed not simple,

With an urge to repeat.


My vortex of doubt,

Broke into pieces,

The day before he died

We drew up a table of dreams

Together, in the hot, sultry weather


Tired and broken, I had given up on me,

Separated from the evening

I do not want to die tonight

Our eyes kiss the sun

I would like us to be cured

Of the unholy curiosity

That reaches out to all that is mortal, dies,

The pungent smell of hot tar sent me back,

Alive, to summer days spent wending my way

Through dandelions parodying the gaudy sun,


Did I dream the frozen moment when I pushed at the heavy door,

Stared myopically down the nave towards the altar

Admiried the immutable calm of the white burning candles

Not seeing the conscious act of sacrilege on the altar?


Mummified unwindings lke a dark, tepid river,

Fear begins to snake through the empty spaces

Where my veins should be, arteries deep inside of me,

Where all the souls of all the lost girls and boys coagulate 


The insensibility of stones is a staging post,

On the never-ending road, to unfenced existence,

Where every line of badly drawn flesh is a labyrinth

Of a life lived apart from the breeding ground  

Of well-scrubbed killers.


Image result for A vague trembling of stars roses painting

◄ Skipping wheels of rhyme

¡No Pasarán! ►


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John Marks

Fri 5th Jul 2019 22:28

Thank you kindly, Do, Leon and Jemima. Your support means a lot to me, for, as William Carlos Williams taught us, so briefly,so long-ago: "so much depends upon a red wheelbarrow."

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Jemima Jones

Fri 5th Jul 2019 14:52

In reading this beautiful poem John it takes me back to my love of and isn't that dissimilar from works by the old masters such as Wordsworth, Coleridge, Frost, and Hardy. And I more than agree with Leon in saying it really does deserve to be voted in as the poem of the week. Thank you. Jemima.

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Fri 5th Jul 2019 12:52

100% worthy of being POTW John.

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