Sunday, June 16, 2013

A curl of hurt shell

 photo When-Father3.jpg

When Father Fell Out Of Bed

At the edge of the lake,
where worry presses
over and over against
shiftworn sand, the
cruel and ceaseless
lapping vexes the given
element until it is drawn,
redrawn, withdrawn to
shallows pooled by
the nightbed where
an arm, a hand
overhangs itself,
tied to a reflexive
anchor made of sleep
until pulled down
into abyss where soft
anger girds itself within
a curl of hurt shell, the
hard calcite textured
with all the fallen youth
it took to make it.

 photo When-Father2.jpg

In this, when the night
confers its uncaring
endorsement, the voice
becomes a metal cricket
in a cold weld, becomes
a shriek at the ear
of rage where the howl
does not concern itself,
but matters anyway,
matters because to not
do so means to go gentle,
to go white-flagged,
and there’ll be none
of that, father, none
of that for you.

Joseph Gallo
June 13, 2013

 photo When-Father1.jpg


Blogger miamizsun parried...

joseph, i hope all is well

and i haven't stopped by often enough

this is a note to let you know

that i'm re-committing to treat myself

to your passionate and moving creativity

peace be with you

jeff :^)

June 23, 2013 7:50 AM  
Blogger Kyle Kimberlin parried...

This looks like made in spite of pain, but gathers power there. Well done, Joseph. You stared it down unblinking.

June 24, 2013 11:10 PM  
Blogger Joseph Gallo parried...

Jeff: Great to hear from you again, my friend. Thank you so much for the message. I hope you are well and thriving in FLA. Let me know next time you pass through the Central Coast of CA. Be well, amigo. :-)

Kyle: Thanks. You always have a great eye for things I'm not fully aware of. We do what we do, as poets, no more; no less. Happy summer, my friend.

July 01, 2013 8:10 PM  

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