Friday, February 10, 2006

The Beast Is Slain

The sun split the belly
of a gray-dragon day,
spilling bloody
yellow entrails
over houses and fences,
hanging like
shredded linen in the trees.

I walked on the sidewalk
pressing golden slime
into the treads of my shoes;
birds bobbed for curious worms,
stepping lightly,
on flooded lawns.

Windows worn thin
from staring eyes inside,
washed their sills and jambs
with the blessed plasma
of a slain Winter storm.

(all rights reserved Pat Paulk 2006)


J. Andrew Lockhart said...

wow, there is a lot in this! I'm trying to write in the dark while a class watches a dvd about rhythm - I've seen it 33 times now! 3 more to go ----

Pat Paulk said...

Thanks Andrew! Assume you survived the last 3...

Anonymous said...

You're scaring me....

Pat Paulk said...

I aims to please!!

Christine Klocek-Lim said...

Pat, wow, the juxtaposition of entrails with the remnants of a storm creates an interesting feel to the imagery in this poem. I want to be disgusted, but the images turn out so beautiful. It's surprising and enjoyable for that element.

Pat Paulk said...

Thanks Christine. Just a different way of looking at a storming going away.

Eric said...

'birds bobbed for curious worms'
was great but i got REALLY excited over 'slain Winter storm' . . . kill that beast.

Pat Paulk said...

Eric I can understand why you would!!