MS (8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)


Upon floor I delve,
In the ground I've found myself...
Upon bones I sleep,
on all of these dead memories, I do weep,

Blood fills earthly qualms,
Inflicted with the blade in palm,
Silent slices, cut away pain,
yet another is all I gain.....

Fallen into the embrace of death,
I'm held by all those dying,
Living without a breath,
I've fallen past trying,
Underground I shall sleep,
Forever hearing every living weep.

Fallen into rubble words fall to dust,
Carried away they live within us..

In the ground they shall be spoken,
From the icy lips once known as Crimson.

User Rating: 5 / 5 ( 0 votes ) 6

Comments (6)

Anyone who is familiar with Billy Collins' work felt the congruence. The details were perfect! well done.
what a lighthearted treasure, Michael. the frayed Welcome mat conjures quite a homey image. good show. Jake
Hats off...if we had hats (see my favorite Collins poem, 'The Death of the Hat') . Now I'd put my money, if I had to choose, that this is a metaphorical 'visit', but it sure as hell sounds like your were really there!
What a lovely warm poem, Michael. My favorite line 'the doormat has said Welcome for some frayed years now.' You captured that homey, midwestern feeling that his poems show us...Accessible, yes, but straight to the heart. Raynette
This is so much fun, Shep. And yes, 'accessible' is the key word, almost too accessible, if that's possible. You've hit upon the wonderful genre of poetry about other poets. Collins does it too, for example, with 'Taking Off Emily Dickinson's Clothes, ' probably my favorite poem of his. Good job.
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