Thursday, December 30, 2004

Another deadly poem

Jabberwock wrote these two stanzas as a response to my first poem on this blog, and I completed it. Here it is.


Through countless ruptures,
Flows an unholy gush.
His blood colours the pavement,
It’s the Devil’s paintbrush.

What’s the colour of gore?
I’m not sure any more
What’s that smeared on my car door??
Now he’s spattered across the divider,
His brains a yellow-brown goo
I had one for the road
(But then I might’ve had two.)

‘Tis the argument that did it
It’s become a routine affair
I’m sick of the squabbling
Can’t take it; I just don’t care.

I used to try once
When it mattered what I said
But none of it counts anymore
I think, as he lies there, dead.

4 Comments:

Blogger Jabberwock said...

Hey, it's THREE stanzas, not two. There was supposed to be a para break after the three italicised lines, as any connoisseur of Great Poetry would've told you (the three lines being what we Ezra Pounds refer to as, ahem, Asides)

30 December, 2004  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Crimes of passion, they say, are the most malevolent.

How does it come to this?

How does the strongest human emotion turn so tragic?

Why?

31 December, 2004  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Gilead is an intriguing brand name that has inspired many a write up: while 'gilead' is used in blogosphere to represent US extreme right, it is also the name of donald rumsfeld's former company

02 June, 2005  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

but it means something soothing

02 June, 2005  

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