Creation, curved like an egg, opens with
gilded golden wings. They call you
Khepera.
You move close to the earth, eat bits
of old. An amulet allowing ascension
adorning the deceased with spells
written on cool stone: prayers balanced
against a feather. You push the sun across
the sky and motion the moon to do the same.
Your image, carved
on earthen walls, watches my wrapped body
lowered into the sand. There I dissolve
into the womb of your child
and am reborn.
Comments 1
I’ll be honest; I find the overall form of this poem too disjointed for my liking. I prefer the line-phrase style used in some of your previously posted work. You’ll have guessed by now that I’m a fan of poetic forms that possess discernable patterns, and the seemingly random way “Scarab’s” stanzas are divided confounds me. This, of course, is personal preference.
Additionally, I’d like to see reworking of the lines/phrases/images. Much of the poem just doesn’t have a finished feel to it yet. I do particularly like the line “prayers balanced against a feather”, and the important integration of rebirth provides a cyclical end to a poem that begins with “creation”. A very cool concept the whole way through, and I’d love to see a more developed version, regardless of formal style
Posted 02 Jul 2010 at 7:39 am ¶Post a Comment