I’ve loved the poetic form of the pantoum since it was introduced to me in my undergraduate studies. It always provides me with a real mental challenge, like building a literary labyrinth that must fold in on itself just so in order to make it out alright in the end, in order to make sense. Even then, I can’t say that I’ve yet been entirely satisfied with my outcomes, but I think that difficulty is what brings me back to it. Practice makes perfect, right?
The inspiration for #7 came from a walk in the rain:
Necromancer shall be your name,
young spring who would thrust from the earth
little fingers groping blindly
for something firm, something familiar.
Young spring: who would thrust from the earth
these hundred drowned souls?
For something firm, something familiar,
is forever washed away in your deluge.
These hundred drowned souls
ask, with some remorse, “What?
Is forever washed away? In your deluge,
such suffocating mockery is upon us.
“Ask, with some remorse, what
necromancer shall be. Your name,
such suffocating mockery, is upon us
little fingers groping blindly.”
I never can help but feel bad for the little guys, blanched and bloated in their sad little puddles. On the bright side, at least it wasn’t the early bird that got them?
Don’t think I’ve forgotten that I’m still a poem behind; my day off didn’t work quite as planned, but I like to think that I have some good material, so here’s to a doubly-whammy soon.