The Hallowed Bough

In the high-heat of midday sun

the ghostly fulcrum, gnarled 

and knotted, leaves little 

to the imagination:

the precarious pendulum of life 

being balanced, aspiration 

to aspiration drawing down 

to irreconcilable aspirations 

alone, counting off each degree 

the iron-ribbed c**k 

pecks from the shadowed soil --

would, that it never be morning, 

dawn forever a dried-up river. 

How many lost souls I surmise

stood here and prayed so

before the sun slid from sight?

Ken e Bujold

Reviews

[W. Barrett Munn]

From a guy who spent years working graveyard and swing shifts I can appreciate this ending.

Winston

[Ken e Bujold]

Yes, i suppose it could be about that too. This is an odd one for me. Not sure how it came about, or if it really is about the gallows. Genesis was reading Larkin's "Take one home for the kiddies" which if you check you will see is about as far from this as one can get. anyhow, as wont to do, i play with rhyming lines at times, after reading something. On shallow straw become A hallowed bough. Left it there. eventually idea percolates up to the surface and i get an idea of nothing much until dawn a dried-up river rolls in on the tide. then whoosh its chop and dice time and this is the result. fun write, but no real behind the scenes thought to it all

[W. Barrett Munn]

I get a ton of prompts from poems too. Usually a line that reminds me of something and I’m off and running.

[Ken e Bujold]

same here, though the prompts usually solidify around a concrete thought reasonably quick. in this case, almost to the end and it was still open ended, just crafty word play association until ...BAM

[Bonnie Paige]

You sound very intellectual so I'm reading your work with deep thoughts. Irreconcilable aspirations, I know well and understand but do you mean death for the ones who slid from sight. Very good poem with depth.