They follow a dry watercolour
till darkness falls
drawing the pigment from the world
shade by shade
step by step
till there are only blacks and greys
their edges soft and eerie
in the moonlight
the canvas of the world
draws heavier on their steps
bidding them make camp ,
build fires and tell
each other
what they have beheld.
Though each man knows
exactly what he saw
no two can whole agree
just what that was.
The dawn will soon
re-tint the firmament
yet not resolve a single argument.
The caravan decamps –
again moves on.
No man more wise
each soul less put-upon.
Comments?
Sorry, you cannot respond to an archived poemReviews
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I like the feel of the poem
It is almost, as if you are talking about the way as poets, we tend to see what we want to only hearing what fits our own notion of wisdom or insight. I do not know for sure, this is what I gather from your poem, at the moment, maybe it is just the mood I am in who knows. I like it and that is what really matters to me thanks for the read (Peace)coyboy -
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Pretty much..
Thanks for taking the time and glad you liked it! It was a creative writing exercise at a workshop that just 'grew legs' and appeared like this. The point about us not really hearing each other as we travel through life applies to pretty much everyone and not just poets . But hearing how people interpret poems vis-a-vis how we intended to write them can certainly throw this phenonemon into stark relief! And as writers we are sometimes not the best listeners - although we SHOULD be ! Thanks again for the comment.
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Wonderful reading
Excellent -
ha
THis is very good and that you are very different from others I have read which like different . This i could draw out points clearly did you ever live in this caravan .this work is different fromm that of the strangers do you write multiple types of these.Well this is very good congrats
May 7, 2006