It occurred to me that perhaps I sometimes use composing under the gun as a way to force concision in my writing. Probably not the best way to go about it, but it works passably, I suppose. I had been thinking about today's subject for some time before, so pot-simmer, then forced quick brevity seems to have become one of my modus operandi.
With no further natter, I bring you today's poem, below the orange squiggly dingbat. Please respond, poetically or not, as you are so moved.
Thanks for stopping by!
Kalliope
Means "beautiful voice" from Greek καλλος (kallos) "beauty" and οψ (ops) "voice". In Greek mythology she was a goddess of epic poetry and eloquence, one of the nine Muses.
Join us every Tuesday afternoon at the Daily Kos community political poetry club.
Your own poetry is always welcome in the comments.
Bongos, berets & turtle neck sweaters optional.
The keyboard is mightier than the sword.
The Flower Under the Rock
Her name was Kate,
GEDF's sister,
His twin, the one his
Parents wanted.
They'd planned for two,
One son already theirs,
Got a surprise extra
But that's another story.
This is hers.
Did well enough in school,
Married the love of
Her life,
Then lost him--
Logging accident.
A couple little ones
Then another
Husband, far worse
Than the first, and far
Too many more children
Followed over years
Most in trouble with the law
In one way or another.
One committed suicide,
Another blow she bore.
She'd been ill a long time.
Kidneys failing, joints aching
Too much pain
Too much poverty, travail
Endured, until
Neither mind nor heart
Could take any more.
He helped her
As he could, her twin
Brother, my GEDF
He summed her up
Thus: “Nice person,
But never had much
Of a chance.” He escaped
The now-gone logging town;
She could not escape her fate,
The woman I never knew,
The flower under the rock.
Just shy of sixty-eight
Ripples fading away...
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