Ditch-Digger
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Description:
Written at the end of a very long, very hot day with a pencil on the back of a cardboard box, reproduced here for your reading enjoyment.
Ditch-Digger
I find myself writing with hands that ache with strain. The unfortunate truth of necessity is that these hands have been gripped for too long without compensation. My ankles, too, are swollen to the size of apples. I find myself wondering, how many sons of the earth find themselves in similar straits? I call out to the ditch-diggers; I call out to the gravediggers, now. Stand up and be counted. We grip the shovel. We move the earth. What other man can say that? I've heard their talk. They think that somehow we are less than them. What they fear is a level playing field. I have found respect in the field of administration. I have found respect on the field of war. Here, though, where all men are equal, I have found my home. It is right that we should sweat. It is right that we should ache. Men were not meant to be surrounded by solid walls or to have our blazing star shielded by plaster or wood. There is a large blister at the base of the thumb on my left hand that is covered with a callous from time to time. It has a twin on the palm of my right. Occasionally, one is torn open, or the other. At times, both open at once to weep across my palms. It's usually only water, but some days it is blood. I feel a connection with Jesus then, but it is brief. His palms bled only once. Men who dig and sweat beneath a clear blue sky have no need of a saviour... and only the sun can send us to Hell. |
Submitted on 2005-06-11 02:12:39 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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| I admire those who can take their random thoughts and from those flimsy filaments spin poems or prose such as this. I sometimes do this in a journal entry, and reading this reminds me that I should do that more often. A cardboard box no less! I liked the way you created something interesting and semi-profound from contemplating some blisters and aching limbs,— Yet you don't get too serious, but merely present your thought on a take-it-or-leave-it basis. The thought develops like a crack on a windshield from a small pock mark left by a random stone, to a bright zig-zaggy lightning bolt that has a beauty of its own despite its unpromising beginning. (Does that make sense?)This comment is following the same pattern. Sally | Posted on 2005-12-21 00:00:00 | by Silverdog | [ Reply to This ] | I've read this on a few ocassions and seem to be drawn to it for some reason. Maybe it is the level headedness of the narration. I think that I also appreciate a story that is told from someone's experience, something like a lack of contrivances. You could break it up out of a narrative format and put it in a poem like format. There are lots of poetic devices operating here. | I like how it begins by drawing on the call of grave dioggers and the like. You make it sound like digging in the earth has been an occupation for man since time immemorial. I guess it comes about from the level playing ground bit, and also the theological suggestions. In essence I like how you take something apparently mundane and transform it into something glorious, almost like the fervour raised from a communist manifesto or something minus all the political hoo-har. Strangely stirring. Keep up the good writing, its difficult to find good stuff here at times | Posted on 2005-10-14 00:00:00 | by kanu | [ Reply to This ] | I love this poem. It sends such a strong message, yet seems to have been written with ease. I appreciate your comment on my poem "My Daddy." You definitely have a great talent, and very unique as well. Keep it up...I love it! | | Posted on 2005-07-13 00:00:00 | by annabella041986 | [ Reply to This ] | Not bad, and certainly very different to most other writes on elite. Captured the feel of sweaty toil very well. I did love the last line though - | 'only the sun can send us to Hell.' One of those powerful endings I wished I had done. Hope you keep writing and posting - Im still really looking forward to reading the next chapters of Pulp. Sincerely, Unkle Django | Posted on 2005-06-29 00:00:00 | by Von Django | [ Reply to This ] | Heh Heh, nothing like a bit of hard work, eh Chris? | You have me wondering about this (which is good) I don't really know your point in writing it, it can't be as it reads, just a moan about how hard you work, so I better read it just one more time and try and see inside your words. There's nothing wrong with a piece that leaves the reader unsure...and thinking. Well done Be Happy Graeme | Posted on 2005-06-28 00:00:00 | by wewak11 | [ Reply to This ] | Powerful. Very, VERY descriptive, and powerful. Especially the last line, now that's a nice way of looking at things. And yet it's so true |  cruel sun...But I love how you described the gravedigging thing. It reminded me of scene 5 in Hamlet, about the talk and everything. The way you described the aches and pains and whatnot gave me this idea of an orangey-reddish haze, at the end of the day, in a very humid atmosphere. Man *hands you a bunch of cardboard boxes* that's pretty awesome for just a thing like that. Keep it up. ~Spire~ | Posted on 2005-06-11 00:00:00 | by Spire | [ Reply to This ] | I found this really interesting. It's always intriguing to just read someone's random thoughts without trying to analyse or become all scientific about it. So I didn't want to dissect punctuation or anything because I read this and just enjoyed being inside your head for a brief moment. The bit about "all men being equal" where you were was most striking, in my opinion. | | Posted on 2005-06-11 00:00:00 | by Samson McLuchin | [ Reply to This ] | |
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