a home ode
In my house at midnight’s rest
Star hands creep close and murmur praise,
A silken bird crawls through the shattered eye
The dove peruses my wilting walls, which leave a yellow dream for human spirit,
Past aching cradle and screaming bough,
The moony voice sharpens his teeth and grinds in sleep
For over firs and oaks my father sits as a martyr
And my mother cries for death or respite
Past lovely arms of broken bodies,
and fabrics of new days (new lives),
We haze an overzealous song for cries of further pride
And with the careful touch over glasses of wine,
With their musk and stinking depth,
The couple dance in their drunken stupor.
And past melting gold in shoes of sweet leather,
Past urban legends in midst of silk,
Risks soft exchange and stormy weather,
An ancient city,
Some careful king
Comments
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cecilymock
Your surreal dreamscape weaves together haunting domestic imagery with mythological undertones, echoing Federico García Lorca's "Romance Sonámbulo" in its nocturnal symbolism. The juxtaposition of intimate family pain ("my father sits as a martyr/And my mother cries for death") with ethereal elements ("Star hands creep close," "silken bird") creates a powerful tension throughout. I particularly admire how you transform ordinary objects into otherworldly beings, while maintaining the poem's emotional core about family struggle and transformation. The progression from private pain to "ancient city" and "careful king" suggests a universal scope to this personal narrative. If you need support, text HOME to 741741.