For Poem of the Week, I’d like to share something from friend and writer Scott Gustin. I’m very fond of it.
9/25/2009
Hammer of youth falls
Upon sun drenched skin
As the fancies of idols
Erode and blister
The small hand reaching out
Clenches fist and inhales
Fermented fruits long littered to Earth
Faint memory of blossomed limb
Upon desolate road
Among etched granite stone
Below cracked timber of long silent mine
On Milky Way spattered nights
The creep of time
And the pondering mind
Last year’s draught of dust
To sooth not but thistle
Beneath pale slivered moon
Night quenches glow
To pound this season’s crop to pulp
So one may not thirst long
To thirst for not
Now these bones shall lie
Where gavels are crushed
Beneath hoof or foot
Where the right hand
May caress the horn
And bedtime myths
Are swept upon restless sea
Upon these pages pool ink night
And not is but a tale
Woven from will
That one might set foot
Upon not trail
But beat a path as thou shall