Earth, earth,
riding your merry-go-round
toward extinction,
right to the roots,
thickening the oceans like gravy,
festering in your caves,
you are becoming a latrine.
Your trees are twisted chairs.
Your flowers moan at their mirrors,
and cry for a sun that doesn't wear a mask.
Your clouds wear white,
trying to become nuns
and say novenas to the sky.
The sky is yellow with its jaundice,
and its veins spill into the rivers
where the fish kneel down
to swallow hair and goat's eyes.
All in all, I'd say,
the world is strangling.
And I, in my bed each night,
listen to my twenty shoes
converse about it.
And the moon,
under its dark hood,
falls out of the sky each night,
with its hungry red mouth
to suck at my scars.
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Comments
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wow i love your poems, your poems are the poems that are posted in those school textbooks,lol i forgot what there called though
Edited on Oct 10, 4:23 p.m. because ''. -
I love me some Anne Sexton and no doubt, this is a great choice for old poem of the day. Such lovely and painful lines (very common with Sexton's poetry). Splendid. Absolutely splendid.
~CT -
This is a good study material for those who write on moral degradation of the society and world in general. The brooding imagery and that isolatarian yet not obscure/abstract narrative is perfect to show the vicissitudes surrounding our life and times. A worthy choice for the poem of the day...
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