~ MY ORIGINAL POEM ~
My memories gather and squabble
like crows in fallow fields
they pick clean
the bones of my recall
bones against the cruel clay
of an arid barren mind
bones spilled from soul boxes
in which I’d desperately collected
the scarred and damaged pieces
of my broken dreams
dreams now parched and withered
dried brittle in the coarse winds
of my dire confusion
their promises scratched and raspy
slowly slipping unintelligible
into the chaos and cacophony
of the crows in fallow fields
—{:}—
~ MY RESCUE REWRITE ~
My memories gather and squabble
like crows in fallow fields
they pick relentlessly random
at the bones of my recall
bones against the cracked clay
in a foggy mind
bones spilled from soul boxes
where I desperately collect them
drying brittle in the wafting winds
of my careless confusion
their promises scratched and raspy
slowly slipping unintelligible
into the chaos and cacophony
of the crows in fallow fields
but I too am relentless
picking up what remains I’m able
to make these pieces of my dreams
be they large or small
tattered scattered pieces of my dreams
come whole in joyous fashion
‘til I simply am no more
yes, ‘til it all comes crashin’
this will remain my passion
that fractured dreams will find new lives
and new joys will fill weary eyes
kwamba utapata furaha yako
*
rob kistner © 2021
Poetry at: dVerse
Now please enjoy these unbelievably incredible women, and these bands…
Nice restructuring of the ending. Hurrah for hope, and let’s hear it for positive thinking. “Till I simply am no more” is a gut punch. I believe, soul is energy, and ascended identity. Death is just a transition (one hopes). a billion times more complex than the traditional concept of Heaven, After Life is multi-dimensional, where time doesn’t exist, and there are answers to many of our once mortal questions. You are recognized as an old soul, and have had many past lives. You may, or may not choose to return for another go-round.
Thanks brother! I have just enough uncertainties about what is next for us, that I find it very comfortable to slip into any of what you are postulating here Glenn. The only one that my active logic and intellect can’t abide is the fundamentslist fairy tale of heaven and hell. That for me sits solidly in the realm of the absurd. Time flows eternal. It would never be wasted, halted while someone is barBQ’d. It’s far too dynamic. I embrace the concept that energy cannot be created or destroyed, just distributed and modified. Whether or not I am an old soul, I certainly have the feeling that I am just passing through — however the fuck that should be interpreted?
Rob, I *love* how you flipped the script here. Hell yes! Keep on keepin on with fashioning dreams with the bones until the drum beats no more.
Fly ‘til ya die!
Hurrah! you found the upturn, upbeat though both renditions of your poem are wonderful to read.
Thank you so much Laura, I appreciate your gracious words!
I really love how you took your own poem and found a way to find a way back from those fallow fields (or at least a way to enjoy them)
Thank you Bjorn!
a hopeful rearrangement
One can try! 🙂
It feels as if you have rescued yourself. The Swahili is something we should all wish each other.
I rescued my original poem Marion. Yes, we could all hope to find peace. 🙂