Antennae pick up the tremors in your voice –
Sense the strain - know that you are struggling
Against the power of your weakening –
Keeping your defences up – juggling.
Your laugh – a bit too quick – a little shrill,
Betrays you – and a thrill , deep and dull is stirred .
Something dark raises its head and sniffs the air –
Is there blood on it ? Should it check the herd ?
A predator to something wounded drawn
Moves to the beat of an African drum.
The herd becomes restless – unsettles to move on.
But the straggler moves slower – looks back.
The drum beats faster now – but time slows down .
The Serengeti broody with attack .
I thought a cat-and-mouse game we’d begun.
But I know better now – know why you run .
I know that toying’s not what will be done.
That if I should find your straggling, wounded heart
Alone and in the open –
Then I must tear it – and my own – apart.
So I keep a cage door locked-
And pray.
In a list
Comments?
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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Fair
IT is not so clear at some point. :-) THough I love the way you present the idea and the imagery is cool.. Rewarded 4
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Just like Natural Geographic
Just a kwik comment to say: Now this was interesting. Is it just me or does the Serengeti Survival Special overlay the cat and spouse games of human relationships?
gG -
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No Clues
A big word-game hunter like yourself doesn't need any help from a little game-keeper like me.
Cat and spouse games indeed! I'm going to tell my wildebeast what you said!
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I have not seen the world and its wonders, but this is enough to take me there. I get to watch such prey-predator interaction in TV and suffice to say this does is as well. I like the way it breaks away from that imagery of the animals to a generality in the next stanza.The sudden point it makes is no longer limited to the open fields of Africa...it now becomes a reality even in the city.
Somehow, we must be opportunist,feeding on the vulnerable and at the same time imposing our strength. Man is supposedly a predator because of the lcoation of his eyes, but who are our prey? We even prey on each other (once in awhile.
It is distant in the beginning, like you were merely telling of Africa. It drives closer at the second stanza as it speaks of that interaction. Good poem. Liked it.. Rewarded 4
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Thank you Iphios.
Glad you liked it. I regard this as one of my darker poems . It was never 'about' the African plains per se. What I most wanted to convey was my idea that vulnerability actually triggers predatory behaviour and is not just detected by it. This is as true of human relationships as it is of the animal world. I'd hoped to convey some sense of menace and darkness using the Dark Continent as backdrop. Hope I succeeded. Thanks again for taking the time to read and comment. >W<
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I've been here before, for sure..
but I don't know why I didn't leave a comment...
I love the sound of this!!!!! Must be one of my favorites among your collection. I like the idea of an animalistic prey-predator relationship extrapolated into any kind of relationship, human or otherwise.
Even the choice of words is perfect and it just fits perfectly well, weaved together...and yes, I can even hear the beating of African drums while reading this.
You made it all come to life! You're brilliant!
Lynne
p.s. just one thing...caging is not a good thing, you know - release and fly (you're the windhover after all!) lol!. Rewarded 4
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Some children are ugly
Glad to see someone liked this - it got relatively little comment. It is however one of my own favourites and I'm particularly glad you found it atmospheric which I hoped the reader would. There is something about vulnerability which attracts predatory behaviour, in more ways than one. That's how nature works I suppose. Thanks again for patting one of my ugly kids on the head and giving him candy ! -
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you know what...
i love it when somebody else loves my work too. but at the end of the day, it's when the really significant people, no matter how few, have given it comments or even just a one-liner that says "this has touched me, thank you" - i am content! yes, some children are ugly - but, remember the ugly duckling - it's the heart that counts! always! c ya.
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very very very nice....The imagery is amazing..the descriptions are powerful and overall the poem is thought-provoking...Looking forward to reading more of your work!!
. Rewarded 4
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Release
I returned as an outsider to see why this poem elicited sympathy and see it now in the pronouns used in it. It was not written about or to me, but forty years ago it might have been.
There are people in this life who on first meeting, are like we have known them forever. Perhaps in a previous life, if such exist... 1964 was a time of immense grief for me because my dad had suffered a massive stroke and three days after my return home, in hospital, after cracking jokes with half his face he smiled, and was gone. It left me wounded and unhealed to this day because, when it was too late, I realized I had never even once told him that I loved him. I have paid the price of that, and still do.
It left me vulnerable. The kindness of my husband and friends was only that, not really reaching the pain. My youngest child was almost five years old then, the oldest (of four) was twelve, and all still remember what a wonderful grandfather he had been.
They did not understand my illnesses--the insomnia, the tachycardia, the arthritis which really flared up then and has left me crippled. I worked as always but was I really there?
And --you guessed it-- there are men who sense these things, and in my stupidity I was unaware until one day a chance remark did it. This was back in the '60s not yet as corrupt, and I saw that some of the kindness was not consistent with my role in life.
I tried avoidance, played deaf, and the problem faded. Just not my scene.
And then I read a poem from the point of view of such a friend and found it powerful, evoking tremendous sympathy, even after forty years. Almost exactly forty, if that matters. Sympathy that in my shattered state, was missing then, just surviving.
That I would have found this poem now may prove a closing of a circle, and a release from something that although forgotten, had haunted me.
Never underestimate the kindness of friends!
When I was first asked to explain the sympathy, I had no answer. Just that to be able to write so eloquently of an immensely painful thing could have come only from having lived it.
When I started to write this, I had no idea it would lead me here. In the herd, I had seen myself as I am today, in lines 9, 12, and 13, broken and falling prey. There is something to be said in favour of such fate. Chronic pain ends.
Or maybe in Toronto, a gifted surgeon in a teaching hospital may be able to release some of it, and let me walk again, like real people.
May I thank you for writing this?
You have let fresh air in.
Terry. Rewarded 4
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The imagery and rhythm is very effective. I feel the poem would benefit however if you replaced some of the dashes with commas or periods. Maybe you could also consider playing with the line-breaks a bit. Really enjoyed reading this. Maria
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Very powerful
On two simultaneous levels, one level hidden until the content changes, but present in the sustained metaphor for the human condition that begins this complex poem, this is a scenario regrettably played in hidden corners of many lives. Thus it will bring
strong response and -- in those not involved,--immense sympathy.
I wish I had more time to reply but we are within an hour of leaving again for Toronto and the medical tests waiting for me. They will also be collecting a stockpile of my blood (rarest negative) for the operations yet to come. While others swim, I will watch, anchored by a cast through what is yet to be my summer and probably also into Fall. (Great to have a notebook computer.)
Terry. Rewarded 4
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