"hedged" poems
God knows how our neighbor managed to breed
His great sow:
Whatever his shrewd secret, he kept it hid
In the same way
He kept the sow--impounded from public stare,
Prize ribbon and pig show.
But one dusk our questions commended us to a tour
Through his lantern-lit
Maze of barns to the lintel of the sunk sty door
To gape at it:
This was no rose-and-larkspurred china suckling
With a penny slot
For thrift children, nor dolt pig ripe for heckling,
About to be
Glorified for prime flesh and golden crackling
In a parsley halo;
Nor even one of the common barnyard sows,
Mire-smirched, blowzy,
Maunching thistle and knotweed on her snout-
cruise--
Bloat tun of milk
On the move, hedged by a litter of feat-foot ninnies
Shrilling her hulk
To halt for a swig at the pink teats. No. This vast
Brobdingnag bulk
Of a sow lounged belly-bedded on that black
compost,
Fat-rutted eyes
Dream-filmed. What a vision of ancient hoghood
must
Thus wholly engross
The great grandam!--our marvel blazoned a knight,
Helmed, in cuirass,
Unhorsed and shredded in the grove of combat
By a grisly-bristled
Boar, fabulous enough to straddle that sow's heat.
But our farmer whistled,
Then, with a jocular fist thwacked the barrel nape,
And the green-copse-castled
Pig hove, letting legend like dried mud drop,
Slowly, grunt
On grunt, up in the flickering light to shape
A monument
Prodigious in gluttonies as that hog whose want
Made lean Lent
Of kitchen slops and, stomaching no constraint,
Proceeded to swill
The seven troughed seas and every earthquaking
continent.
6.5k
Hooked and hung to the chair,
tethered by a strap-
colour akin to your hair-
you sat and stared
at another essay to be handed in
by three pm, next-week-Wednesday.
A-future-whatever is another
lustful thought, failed and
let down by little taught.
Again! Why a wife is so hard to find
in brambled streets or box hedged
squares, rectangular and receipt like?
Give up and give in,
walk drunk drinking sloe gin.
That way love is but blackthorn berries
the controversial, speechless adversaries.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
Then was my neophyte,
Child in white blood bent on its knees
Under the bell of rocks,
Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas
The winder of the water-clocks
Calls a green day and night.
My sea hermaphrodite,
Snail of man in His ship of fires
That burn the bitten decks,
Knew all His horrible desires
The climber of the water ***
Calls the green rock of light.
Who in these labyrinths,
This tidethread and the lane of scales,
Twine in a moon-blown shell,
Escapes to the flat cities' sails
Furled on the fishes' house and hell,
Nor falls to His green myths?
Stretch the salt photographs,
The landscape grief, love in His oils
Mirror from man to whale
That the green child see like a grail
Through veil and fin and fire and coil
Time on the canvas paths.
He films my vanity.
Shot in the wind, by tilted arcs,
Over the water come
Children from homes and children's parks
Who speak on a finger and thumb,
And the masked, headless boy.
His reels and mystery
The winder of the clockwise scene
Wound like a ball of lakes
Then threw on that tide-hoisted screen
Love's image till my heartbone breaks
By a dramatic sea.
Who kills my history?
The year-hedged row is lame with flint,
Blunt scythe and water blade.
'Who could snap off the shapeless print
From your to-morrow-treading shade
With oracle for eye?'
Time kills me terribly.
'Time shall not ****** you,' He said,
'Nor the green nought be hurt;
Who could hack out your unsucked heart,
O green and unborn and undead?'
I saw time ****** me.
2.5k
This valley wood is pledged
To the set shape of things,
And reasonably hedged:
Here are no harpies fledged,
No rocs may clap their wings,
Nor gryphons wave their stings.
Here, poised in quietude,
Calm elementals brood
On the set shape of things:
They fend away alarms
From this green wood.
Here nothing is that harms -
No bulls with lungs of brass,
No toothed or spiny grass,
No tree whose clutching arms
Drink blood when travellers pass,
No mount of glass;
No bardic tongues unfold
Satires or charms.
Only, the lawns are soft,
The tree-stems, grave and old;
Slow branches sway aloft,
The evening air comes cold,
The sunset scatters gold.
Small grasses toss and bend,
Small pathways idly tend
Towards no fearful end.
2.2k
Not every man is gentle in his life
but you remained a gentleman
Through all your pain and strife
My childhood years
when you stood strong and tall
Sparkling eyes with love
entwined the ivy on the wall
within your garden, hedged around
a paradise of fruitful ground
and I in childhood flushed
transfixed I stand
awed at the gardeners magic hand
Here for you
there was no wretched bottled smell
An alcohol free paradise
An alcohol free hell
How you loved to hear the wild birds
sweetly sing
And see your world re-live again
in Spring
"How calm" you said to hear the rippling stream
A beauty unaware to me
You thought me how to dream
In all your yarns
attention held me mute
but if my heart allowed
I wouldn't dare dispute
With flitting years
your speech you tried to goad
But you my aged friend
could still my thoughts behold
Your every limb that moved
so gracefully before
by life's uneven cobbles
were battered , warped and sore
You fought a loosing battle
with your bottle eager hand
and I watched your spirit slip away
like a fist of dried out sand
The tears rolled down my face
as I kissed my cherished friend
I thanked your god for your friendship
and your dignity to the end.
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
What's rendered me an impotent of life,
while others live a life with vibrant hum?
A curse that's hedged me by a wall of strife!
While other lives with fine success are rife,
my own's deplete, a curse has sure become
what's rendered me an impotent of life!
Through failure to provide I've lost a wife!
Though I believe, there are those doubts in some,
a curse that's hedged me by a wall of strife
cannot exist, they say, I'm a midwife
to all my troubles, I am who has done
what's rendered me an impotent of life!
Or maybe I've insulted a spaewife,
who cast, to love and money make me dumb,
a curse that's hedged me by a wall of strife.
I've searched from North Recife to Tenerife,
and failed to find a way to make undone
what's rendered me an impotent of life,
a curse that's hedged me by a wall of strife!
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
it's real easy to feel like
we've done it all
wrong
phenomenal fuckyes then
phantasmagoric fear ragers
perpetual pity *******
blood middle knuckle crush
regretful bets hedged
hunched frozen tongues
and pointy unsaids
but sometimes
with mind wide-eyed
and heart roots writhing
I've seen it
way differently
a vantage point
where pushpull face-plants
are winning lotto tickets
because maybe
we were kindling of yes
unable to keep it burning yet
and we would have fumbled it
far beyond repair
I'm fairly certain
our heartfelt invites
to instant cohabitation
would have ended
painfully
badly
traumas tripping
over hair triggers
in a 3-legged race
two smoking pistols
and four red feet
even Hello
seems too intense
to mouth
and from this
particular perspective
I can see how
every decision made in fear
led to whinging karmarang
tied with two strings
I daresay
one day we might
look back with a smile
that it went down this way
because the initial who
were not strong enough
to shoulder the immensity
nor surrendered enough
to float the fragility
of newborn carbon
gossamer whorl
in fact
I push all my chips
toward that
maybe there is
fortune in false starts
we make plans
but I bet The One
has better ones
so I'm pretty sure
we should sit down
and listen
for that breeze
to whisper
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
**At first light I made a gift of coffee
it’s aroma stirred just one long leg
I lifted her naked into the wet warmth
to bathe awake and wash long hair
carrying her towelled wrapped form
bowed lips now sip then fight me
as I dress her in jeans, socks and top
beauty made calm and simple
Drunk sad at her leaving party
keeping her warm I had let Lust sleep
now still lolling in grief for dark peace
my selfish need drags her ****** up
into light trapped by the green valley
walking on along its grass path
the canoed river spits past a-whirl
rediscovering the torn through pocket
her hand delves questioning
to withdraw unhurried, stroked
by a flicking fishing rod
Recovered now leading me
over the bridge above the Boat
then on up the steep valley side
we arrive at the Ostrich for beer
then to dine on fish in the open
feeding and sharing her lips
we consider audaciously
the little garden’s potential
she hums prayer murmurings
pleased by the moment
On into the nearby woods
high above the Kings trail
to slowly descend hedged paths
we return to the river valley
slipping between shop doors
lifting a book we idle along
a new couple enjoying life
taking tea under waterfalls
back besides the Boat where
her beauty is now Queen
She leads me smiling by the hand
along both banks in the setting sun
till we near the Abbey's stone ribs
skipping around it's green shadows
a bank helps us to vault within
Fenced alone
ignoring distant figures
jeans and top colour
the darkening lawns
beckoning me closer
Lust now sits astride
the grass and stone
an open ****** grin
A week only, no more
I am left alone in her bed
on this smaller island
she ashore in another
busy - separated by a day
we talk lovers spells
and write away our hopes
Three months and two days
a call **** you we were....
pregnant” her sacrifice ours
on a stainless alter of
that new god Career**
.
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 2:45 AM UTC
IV
Before your work
you sit, so still
as in a painting
by Hammershøi
(Isa’s hair,
so like your own).
Beyond the desk,
the bay window
stretches your gaze
to the fox-frequented garden,
the hedged less-leaved beech,
the un-blossomed pear.
Now, in the mind’s eye,
your son, your daughter
bed-bound in a doorway:
(a tender moment witnessed)
then the silent grace,
the shared meal.
V
Night falls
and done for the day
the violins unravel.
Only on a brittle guitar,
a Prelude:
Subtle Mysteries of Sleep.
As you close your eyes
tomorrow beckons (in a list),
and thinking backwards:
the nettle soup tale;
a birthday cake adventure;
breakfast on the patio with sunshine.
Premonitions? Perhaps.
But in yesterday’s paper
a shock of poetry,
plants the seeds of blank verse -
no pointers given
(save these folded words).
VI
That evening
I asked the questions,
and later you said:
‘If I’d not wanted to tell you
I wouldn’t have’.
I’d already guessed. I knew.
out in the garden
a sunny day
skuddering clouds
white as the blossom
left and loose
leaving lightness
That evening,
as the minutes
ticked away,
I seemed at last
to see you entire,
even your quiet hands.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
Little ant, so small and insignificant
Yet in numbers up an elephant’s snout
How easily you make him indisposed
Lesson to learn: strength in numbers
Maxim to remember: unity of purpose
Oh termite, thou destroyer of civilizations!
How mighty when surreptitiously you creep in
Such ingenious civil engineering feats everywhere
Orderly highways with neither jams nor congestion
And tall imposing castles kissing the air proudly
Result: new architectures plagiarizing your prototype!
And you wasp of constricted waist and mean toxin
You make no attempt to hide or disguise your dwelling
Yours is a house built upon a hill for all to see and tremble
They say when a man has no obvious protection keep away
Lest you trigger subtle forces that mesmerize and pulverize you
Lesson from this: commandos are modern day human wasps
Everybody owes the bee everything, from sweetness to health
The bees a-buzzing speak of persistence and how it breaks barriers
In the end you listen because the message is ceaseless and urgent
And oh sweet bee of the hot sting shot from your posterior
No cordon bleu chef anywhere can ever approximate your finesse
Your formula and patent are hedged with natural mystery
Lesson to learn: the bitter and the sweet in judicious mixture!
Now little man recently so puffed-up and conceited and ever so inadequate
Hear ye this and know it well lest you stumble and fall into dark precipices
You’re nothing and you’ve created nothing; there’s a prototype of everything
In nature’s wonder store of huge surprises and unassuming wisdom
Lesson from all this: one day the other world will rise up and assert it itself
So steer your course differently and beware of those who bide their time
Grim in their purpose and determined in their unshakable resolve
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC
With this,
My last Will & Testament
I'm sure you're all here
To see what you get
I know you're excited
To see the treasures I had
Now that I'm gone
Now that I've passed
To split it up evenly
Only seems right
Cuts down on the cussing
Stops all the fights...
***I leave behind my disappointments
And all my regrets
Along with the projects
I never finished
Plus all the days
That I never did
With the buckets of tears
I cried over them
You can keep the guilt that I felt
When things would go wrong
Whether or not
It was my fault
Take the attitude
Of what's in it for me
And do as you please
Now that I'm free and no longer in need
Oh and my fits of rage
When things would not go my way
Be careful with that
And watch what you say
Fill free to keep the jealousy
Of why them and not me
But be warned if you do
Happy you'll never be
And my final breath
That I wish I still had
You can toss that away
Now that I'm dead***
I'm sure you're now thinking that
You should have hedged all your bets
Since your ears and your eyes
Have heard and seen what is left
I'm so glad you all came
To take this all away
That over the years
I should never have saved
...oh and tonight if you are soundly asleep
And suddenly come awake
The noise you hear is just me
Laughing from beyond the grave
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 8:42 AM UTC
Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not:
I am no summer friend, but wintry cold,
A silly sheep benighted from the fold,
A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot.
Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot,
Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold;
Lest you with me should shiver on the wold,
Athirst and hungering on a barren spot.
For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge,
I live alone, I look to die alone:
Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge,
Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back,
My heart goes sighing after swallows flown
On sometime summer's unreturning track.
1.6k
The end begins,
not with the first stain
of red sputum on a white handkerchief.
Nor by fingers grown numb with
seizure from the heart’s decay.
But, with an act
that leaves a toy discarded
in the nursery of early choice,
reviving for abandoned deeds
the doppel-gangers of dead youths,
clothed with reproach and unfleshed
figments of the mind’s high hopes of
futures fenced in a child’s green field,
that now is hedged; and ploughed,
and grown bitter with a
named and known crop.
© James Rainsford 2010
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 12:38 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
There are things
That I’ve held deep inside
Certain truths
To myself I’ve deniend
Self-restraints
That I’ve never applied
See my life has been
One hell of a ride
No matter where
My path has led
Or even what
You might have read
Before I’m long gone
And dead
I don’t wanna
Leave nothing unsaid
I’m a man
With few regrets
Cuz it seems my conscience
Always forgets
Though I’ve gambled
I hedged all my bets
Still I’ve made an effort
To pay all my debts
No matter where
My path has led
Or even what
You might have read
Before I’m long gone
And dead
I don’t wanna
Leave nothing unsaid
Before I lay me
Down to bed
And the pillow
Is securely under my head
I don’t want to leave
Nothing unsaid
Or nothing that might
Somehow be misread
I don’t want to
Have a debate
I just want to
Clean the slate
And while I’m at it
Let me also state
I’m just setting
The record straight
No matter where
My path has led
Or even what
You might have read
Before I’m long gone
And dead
I don’t wanna
Leave nothing unsaid
There are no more
Secrets to keep
And so I’m choosing
To go in deep
I’ve decided to
Take the leap
And there is no mountain
That’s too steep
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
I walk aimless, but alert, down moon washed streets
In the twilight, I strain to tell patron from vagrant
A coalescing of something at once ageless, but fading
Like the stone of this courthouse; pillars of justice
Cracked quietly by the steady chiseling of time
On forgotten foundations
In the air rests a stench of contempt, or neglect
Like an oil stain, thickening turquoise waves
To a sickening ooze, of endless, crashing degradation
A nation of people, betrothed to suitors unknown
The power of a dollar hedged against the weight of your soul
Where pockets are plump, and virtue is sold
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 11:53 PM UTC
Faced back before the field space overrun
of runway's end, rusted spikes of flower'd
dock, the field left empty there. World's
airport flatlined beyond and down the sky
ride planes on turbined mist. The stack's
descent, each air-braked glide to tarmac
draws another on and down the day
I slip off into, drive away
along the curve of it. Before
Haslemere, where a tight hedged bend turns up
to the town, is a roe deer, struck dead against
a van. The driver, in descent,
appalled before the long, spread body
of this two year buck, its twin-tined head
laid to ground, a trickle of blood at the mouth.
It fell to this elegant pose
athwart the van's front width,
white neck flopped from the withers;
Crash landed in a sudden grace of death.
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 8:03 AM UTC
This year we were not alone.
In convoy by car,
and now on a lower path,
past the ruined cottages
with their sagging brickwork
past redemption,
we had formed a line
hard on a hedged path
towards a distant wood.
And all the while a child,
a child we loved and cared for,
savaged anything in reach
with a pair of sticks.
As a delicate rain fell,
the aggressive shout
of wood on wood.
numbed the senses.
There seemed no end
to this wanton litany of
violence and aggressive hurt.
For an hour or more this child,
this child we loved and cared for,
had been denied the living world
of the backlit screen.
Was there really nothing worthy
of attention here? So dull and damp
and dreary were these empty fields,
this persistent woodland.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
aloof alphas attack!
banal betas boom, before backing
cautiously, creeping
down, defensible dark
estuaries, estranged escapes
from fierce fiery-eyed
giant gators gathered,
hard hearted hedged
in impossible illumination, irate
jowly jeering jaded jackals
**** **** **** …
let loose low laughs
making much mirth mercilessly
now none need nourishment
oblivious obvious, overt
a putrescent phalanx,
quite quintessential a querulous quorum
a quatre
raucous resounding raptorials retreated
subsequently seizing sizeable sarcoid
sections in scissor strokes
total tormentors, that time twists the
ugly utilitarian
veracious victory
works the wild
yearning as
zealots
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
The rain dilutes the sins of the land,
pandemic baptism and resurrection.
This Earth that once housed Noah
and his Ark, a covenant of life,
the buoyant spring,
cycles like the cylinder of a
revolver, a hedged roulette bet.
When we are cleansed, we achieve
grounding under water, in over
our heads, digging in the mud
for pearls in the scallop and
oyster beds.
The receding of the waters
is our delta moment, fighting
for absolution; a
mammal under water or a
fish out of water,
there is no difference:
only a burning in our chests,
a yearning for return
to the elements we once knew.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
A whispered call to distant dreams,
And sheltered baths in quiet streams.
The measure of a person's worth,
My thoughts the minute after birth.
The bitter irony of a bitter end,
A parting chuckle for a fallen friend.
Just ninety minutes in the sun,
The breakfast of a lonely nun.
A symbol for the morning after,
The memory of my father's laughter.
One season with no trace of water,
The necklace that I never bought her.
Things I've said to peoples' pets,
The hope on which I've hedged my bets.
An apology that's not been made,
A favour I have not repaid.
The reason for a burst of anger,
That one song I never sang her.
All forgiveness ever asked,
All the glory in which I've basked.
All the wisdom I have earned,
All the bridges I have burned.
And the finest of this short selection:
The attainment of perfection.
For all the trinkets life has brought,
There are many that I hadn't sought.
But as my tree keeps gaining rings,
I must keep room for useless things.
Aug 24, 2010
Aug 24, 2010 at 8:58 AM UTC
i see your face in the evening sky
i can tell it's you by your celestial lustre
as heavenly bodies make revolutions nearby
you remain steadfast, shining brightly as ever
distant galaxies paint a portrait
that reflect your likeness throughout time and space
cosmic suitors have all hedged a bet
and i go unnoticed in light of your grace
night comes to a close and you will soon be gone
but the morning sun brings his earthly tone
he seduces you with his gentle dawn
a consummation that stings me to the bone
as you become one with the morning sky
i only wish it would have been you and i
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 7:30 PM UTC
Oneida says she's out of time
for mining lies from crooked minds
and spending nights
beneath strange blankets
street-to-street, tab at a time.
She says she's wasted years
killing hours for days on end
turning bar booths into confidants
and neon signs to friends
She's held on for so long
to her town, to trust, to hopes
But when her shaking hands start sweating,
she starts
to think of letting go.
Oneida's got the map, a tank of gas
and miles to drive
But she won't listen to her screaming gut:
she's played deaf her whole ******* life
She'll be swearing at the stars
while her feet trace the boulevards
and the window lights shine yellow
bathing sidewalks in question marks
But Oneida knows these streets
like she knows me
Oneida says she's leaving town
her last dime spent on dollars down
she's hedged her bets
on 1st and twenty-
fifth at the depot.
She wants to hear new chimes
where new bells ring in brand new climes
turning traitors into confidants;
acquaintances to friends
She's held tight for so long
to each hand that dealt her wrong
But when her cards start flushing royal
she starts
to think she might not fold.
Oneida's got the will, a tank of gas
and time to drive
But will she listen to her screaming gut?
She's played deaf
her whole God **** life
She'll be cursing at the stars
while her feet trace the boulevards
while the window lights gleam yellow
soaking sidewalks in question marks.
But Oneida knows these streets
like she knows me...
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
That summer the sky was hedged in
by clouds, as if to stave off emptiness.
When trees unfolded their fragrant bones
you were enveloped in the lavender
scent of solitude and you could not shed
the bitterest memories.
You learned truths
that seemed unkind:
the world is insincere
and you will never be beautiful.
It is best to care for nothing.
To dream of lines and endings.
It was then that you noticed
the contradiction inherent in hinges,
how a door can blossom
and wither in the same breath.
How it all depends
on the will of a hand.
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 10:27 AM UTC
There was a full stop
hedged on a semi-colon,
but you just flew straight through both.
A train wreck thunderstorm, lightning bolt
smiles that were just a touch too bright.
One thing fell and then another, repeated,
endless cycles of your closed eyes, averted face,
until the pebbles that fell graduated to stones,
to boulders, and you turned and ran towards them.
Each step was a decision, each step another false idea,
another pathetic tragedy, trapped in viscous thought
as silence became a screaming, scorching pain after
you chose to become the enemy.
I was here, I was breathing, I was one step away
from you. But you did not reach for me, you did
not speak. You did not call. I left my phone on for you but
you did not call.
You stole secret to the edge and ripped yourself asunder.
You wrapped your fingers around our throats.
You decided to disappear your problems, to rest in pieces.
You resolved we should be the ones left to suffer,
standing perpetually in your shadow.
I still suffer. I am still here. I am still breathing, but it
is no thanks to you. Your mother cannot look at me anymore.
She says I remind her too much. She doesn't breathe,
she doesn't talk, she doesn't call.
She is the remnant you left behind, cast off like an old coat,
worn and weary and wasted.
Do you remember me? Do either of you remember me?
I cannot do it anymore.
Your legacy is made of salt and water
and all I want to do is forget.
Brother. Mother. Sister;
the family tree is dead.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 11:05 AM UTC
At which point in vivisect
of the physical body
do we parse in twine
the real and the imagined
self? Some point soon
muscle must cede to
hedged bets in extraspace,
wish upon itself mercy.
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 7:21 AM UTC