4th March 2009 Options

[Guest_Ishmael_*]

And in the nights to come the sky will empty
The stars will leave the mourning to rusted moons
Lowering their eyes and coughing as they go
In early twilights breezes glowing guilty
Fiddle with leaves and all the brittle coffins
Lie scattered beneath a single trembling bough

Forget the lies of a vengeance still to come
Whispered by plumes that rise in fretful ribbons
Nothing stirs the covens they stand without shame
Consumptive figures of fun with all their claws
Raking the flaccid clouds and when the rains
Do fall the witches gather them up for oils

And who’s to say when the urge might strike again
To leave the gate for misery’s herds ajar
So lie right here my peach where the husks are blown
And lonely ghosts can watch us night after night
Damping down the dust with trickles of nectar
Let ravens scrape the sky with their broken wit

[Sekhmet]

Good morning Ishmael. You really have set me a problem. I thoroughly enjoyed this poem, and your short story - but find myself exasperated by tripping over my feet when I read them. Would you agree that the reason for the existence of a poet - is to communicate?
I have a suspicion that the majority of us, after working to interpret your poem, would have derived far greater satisfaction from it if you had explained, in an introductory note, why you didn't wish to use that most valuable tool for communicating with your readers - punctuation.
My inclination was to look at your excellent, but obscure poem, and think,
'Far too clever for me!'
Then to furtively sidle away - to graze on simpler fare.
But there you were - a good new poet,(at least, you were new to us.) and deserved a reply.
Can it be possible that you wish to drive a willing, (and reasonably literate) audience away from your work? If so why publish it? Why put stumbling blocks in the path of your would-be reader?
I am hoping that your challenging images are not so exclusive that only those who are willing to plumb your inner thoughts may enjoy your verses.

I am ashamed to say that the title of the poem meant nothing to me.
I simply thought that you had given us the date upon which you finished the poem.

It is, sadly, the way with World Disasters. A major disaster in a far away country leaves little lasting impression on the rest of the world. The Indian Floods , The Tsunami in Thailand, both places where thousands lost their lives and homes. Yet I wonder - could you give us the dates off the top of your head?
Unless you were there - I doubt it.
We read about horrors,and think, 'That's dreadful!'
We put our few coins in a collecting box. And then go about our daily business.

I'm sorry, but I am unable to offer you any suggestions for signposts for your readers, other than the use of punctuation - possibly more skilled poets than myself will be able to suggest something.
Leo