Prelude To That Song

Poem By Robert Rorabeck

I can sing now that the
Lamps our down, and it is the beginning
Of the next century,
Even if people aren’t ready to say so
And they are leaving their homes and never
Because she is still my special angel my wet
Imagination has commissioned to photograph
Leggy and simplex across the pressure
Washed mausoleum
Like a flower fully spread without any shadows
Over her ancestors;
And she doesn’t even know it yet,
But she is about ready to scream.
She will spill her milk, and expose herself,
And the song birds will sing like the bringing in
Of another wedding,
And this is just the beginning of that song.

Comments about Prelude To That Song

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of RORABECK

A Flower In The Rain

I want to fall on you like rain
upon a wildflower
Opening new reason from you
Scaring all the old bees away from

Alice And The Spooks

Little girls in little blonde curls
In reddish frilly messes
Eat their lunch alone,
Served by brunette waitresses

A Single Kiss

Well, it is raining, and the raindrops make
Furtive areolas in the puddles of muddy bellies,
And their mists are like nebulous shrouds,
And unfertilized thoughts of maidens dreaming of

According To Death

With others old and gray,
Or not so old at all—Maybe they will
Mostly be fair haired and young,
If it should be a tragedy. Who knows?


When you are on the highway
going down the lines like
words of the poem pull over
for the ambulance her red light

Dorothy In The New America

When Dorothy got to Oz,
She crawled out her window and said,
“Is this still America? ”
Because she felt so strange,