Tom Simard

Poetry, Music, and Prose

Archive for the tag “land”

Book 20

‘”You are shrouded in night from top to toe,
Lamentation flares, your cheeks melt with tears,
And the walls of the house are spattered with blood.
The porch and the court are crowded with ghosts
Streaming down to the undergloom. The sun is gone
From heaven, and an evil mist spreads over the land.”
20.387-392

Book 10

“The winds rushed out
And bore them far out to sea, weeping
As their native land faded on the horizon.”
10.53-55

Corporations

Corporations
The highest court
in the land
proclaims them
individuals

not of flesh and blood
who bleed when cut

easily able
to pay off
billions
for frauds
exercised.

Thanks to Howard Johnson whose post inspired this poem.
For only the latest in corporate behavior, read this.

Water and Silt

Water and Silt
Ever the dreamer
unable to see
as his carefully laid plans
came to naught,
and he found himself
in a century-old house
where cats had
crawled about
the matriarch of the clan
rocking in her chair
with simplistic ease. 

In a land of poverty
where nothing took to the soil
but weeds.

When winter came
you moved about
to keep warm
as if there were no walls
surrounding you.

You turned on
the creaky bathtub
faucet,
and after an
interminable delay,
there came a
burst
like a bronchial fit,
an equal measure
of water and silt.

Our Mid-Month’s Poet: Matthew Arnold

Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold
The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

The Forgotten

The Forgotten
May death not find you
among the forgotten.

The floors you scrubbed,
the laundry washed.

Depression-time men
passed by for work.

You are older now
and frail among
those lined up
in wheelchairs
for the dose
to keep them
docile.

Dig out
the potato root
formed in that
famished land.

May death not find you
among the forgotten.

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