granite man.


looming gloomily through mist drifts,
here, in the moonlit land of hollow women;
bouldering enormity~shadows rule the ruinous remnants.
The ghosts, the ghosts


Scattered like a swift.tipped sewing box,
sulkily skulking behind button rocks.
Pin pierced starlight – a measure of days
blindly winding away.


We stumble, tearing at our hair,
our lips are as chapped and dry as the skeletal’bracken
we pace upon, night after night.
Like Sisyphus we heave our guilt.weight



to an invisible summit, a terrible truth
as colossal as the bone-cold granite we climb,
Basalt’s bride crying
~where is love?~ to the deaf, deaf fog.






~ by Beeskiffle on February 16, 2009.

10 Responses to “granite man.”

  1. With happiness I trumpet your return, and you dare to work your magic on a more traditional form? Ah, but you succeed, and yet, still, you’ve left your creative fingerprints all over this one with excellent word choice throughout. The final moments, “to the deaf, deaf fog” are a perfect close here and in my eye “make” this piece.

  2. beautiful. it is good to be back. wish i could hang around but i have to head out now. later, skater.


  3. (((you)))

  4. Ah, keep love inside of you for the little things that make you smile and you will always find love in something or someone, no matter how trivial, which just plumps the cushion when you take a knock perhaps. Hello sweets, missed you, x

  5. I can yell in echoey places ~I have love~ xxx

  6. i LOVE the half-rhymes of “looming” “gloomily” and “moonlit” in the first stanza, and the echoes that end both the first and fourth (“ghosts, ghosts” “deaf, deaf”) more than justify your last comment.

  7. It is good to see you back. You have a fabulous talent for creating emotional movement and imagery in small spaces.

  8. Splendidly transporting!! This is why I blog-rolled you!

  9. Where have you gone to, my darling niece? Surely there must be another magical poem brewed by now. You are the best poet alive on the planet today.

  10. I like the click-clatter rhythm of this piece. It rolls well, kind of like GM Hopkins poem.

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