The Tangled Branch Discussion Forums

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               Town of Stawford 

By a ladder’s side rails, light hails
on a hedgehog curled dead in brown grass.

Dance hall, store, one-room post office– 
tar paper siding blows harsh and sparse.

To sense how shadows feed through rubble 
of a collapsed shed which rabbits shun,

to glimpse anew through dew-slaked weeds 
a sun which no longer burns off night’s fog.

Nothing’s coming back.
Your ancestors rot in the cemetery.

Early rains turn these fields to grease.

Now all that is left.


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An awesome Poem Tracy. Not a word wasted, sparse and atmospheric. Lovely Depth without effort and a fine unfolding of time and its effects. It leaves the emotional Response to the Reader. An exceptionally Beautiful composition.
Dave

A bleak picture Tracy, each image nails on that mood, but does the poem progress beyond these images? But then that is the no-hope message:

Nothing’s coming back.
Your ancestors rot in the cemetery.

To sense how shadows feed through rubble 
of a collapsed shed which rabbits shun

I liked the creepiness of that.

I
By a ladder’s side rails, light hails

I felt the internal rhyme rather proclaimed itself.

best

Phil

Phil - thanks for the read and response.  I think that is a fair point that the poem could go beyond what it does. 

As to the first line, I debated about whether it is over the top.  I think I just got my answer. 

Cheers.

T

Just a quick visit to say these two lines were particularly resonant for me.

'To sense how shadows feed through rubble 
of a collapsed shed which rabbits shun,'

Over the years I've come across a few places like that, deserted buildings or patches of woodland where no birds sing or even fly.  I've always assumed that the wildlife knows best and never felt the need to find out why.

Gyppo

 

There are those places, I am glad to hear someone else has the same sense.

T

The sonics and rhythm are fabulous and emphasize the lingering evidence of lives lived here once upon a time. Its almost as if creepy music still emanates from that abandoned dance hall. Towns are dying and rural areas are distressed. This is a dark write for a dark era. Steinbeck in poetic form.

No crits Tracy.
It's a bleak picture, sensitively written. 
Love it all...but...wonder about the title. Does the town require a name if it's not pertinent? 

A well-written and enjoyable T-piece, of course. Perhaps a deviation from authentic voice apparent in the sonic devices employed via word choice enforcement. Rhythmically, an initially discovered tempo dissipates on word outcrops against the flow but only mildly so. The content is good. I would call the piece experimental in tone - a stretching. Overall, a commendable creation. Now how about a dense quad...