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A Poem, Is What

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Some things just ain’t right to tease from a man’s throat, is all.

This I Will Say

A poetic aside by The Duke

This I will say of the woman who made me,
She who saw death in my palms, and who saved me,
She who now walks in the winds cast around me
Like breath spinning wild from my wounds
This I will say of the woman who carved me
From battered old oak and who, when blades had scarred me,
Kissed the deep red on my arms and who cradled me
Like child encased in the womb

Often we shared conversations in back seats of cars
Driven past promenades by our friends
And many more times than my mind can recall
We shared kisses, and frightened,
Swore that this had to end
For she was in thrall to another, and I,
Well I was the last to relent
And tears causing ink to run free from these pages
Detailing the lengths that we went

This I will say, when legitimacy graced my lover and me,
We swore never to part
And she, she adored the songs I had penned for her,
And I, I enthralled by her art
And phone conversations till dawn rudely placed us
Once more in reality’s grasp
And oh how I savored the taste of her lips,
And much more I’d have tasted,
Had I know it won’t last

This I will say, memories, they still taunt me,
Of laying in snow with the sky black above,
This I will say, I can feel my lips tremble,
When thinking of you, and of what I have lost,
And silently passing me, my insecurity,
Finally undid all that we had done,
And who can I blame but myself for this error of character?
I can blame no-one

This I would say of her beauty,
She surely has only to call and the world, it will bow
And they who had sneered and could not understand
Why she clung so to me, well they need not sneer now
And I, well I laugh and I joke and I swear
That not one will pass through this façade
For no-one, not anyone, can hope to add anything
To that what she made

The Duke resides at Mondo Irlando

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About The Duke

  • oh, but Eric, that couplet rules. heh. imagine those student mother types.

    and the musical acomponiment was my usual whining acoustic manner, although at least i had reason to whine this time, when most times i dont.

  • yes… best we forget about this. a man does fucked-up things when fucked-up in the emotions.

  • Just goes to show we all do dim-bulb things as youngsters! [grin]

    I actually contributed poetry under three different pen-names to several editions of the literary quarterly published at my engineering school. There is only one poem I don’t wince to read now, and it was completely light-weight.

    I think it was Heinlein who said, “Poets who read their own work in public have other bad habits as well.” …referring only to my own puny efforts, of course…

  • Duke – I read this more as song than poem even before I read your comments. Am I nuts or does it have a laid-back hip hop feel: strings or what-not over a light snare hip hop beat?

    In any event, nice job.

    Total aside (I’ve been total asiding a lot the last few days):

    I wrote poetry quite often up until the age of 19 or so (when I got the fiction bug… or the keg party bug… or some such bug). My freshman year of college, I used to find it funny/cool to post the “Poem of the Week” on the front door of my room in the dormitories of SUNY Binghamton. One, called “Fuck the World,” made it from my front door to a special place on my wall. It only caused me embarrassment once, when an enthusiastic tour guide caught me on the way back from the gym and asked if the group could see what a real “lived in dorm room” looks like. I recall standing in front of the poem so mothers and young children couldn’t read this nihilistic screed.

    The last couplet went something like:

    His cheeks were rosy, gun in hand, as he sank to one knee
    “Fuck the world!” he cried and shouted with glee

  • thanks doc. this was a bit of a hit and run, is what. it ain’t really a poem at all, which is why it doesnt read like one, but the lyrics to a tune i was gonna put on my next online EP thingy, and then decided i didn’t want to be mouthing that shit over and over.

  • Thank you for sharing that, O Duke.