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Broad Arms and a Strong Back


Author: Cigarz
ASL Info:    35/M/NH
Elite Ratio:    4.76 - 258 /183 /50
Words: 489
Class/Type: Poetry /Serious
Total Views: 1441
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 3060



Description:


Class assignment, free verse after Whitman.


Broad Arms and a Strong Back



I am asleep in a refection, an oil-imbued rainwater puddle concentrically shining off-color rainbows as dust falls around me from machines passing overhead.

Exaggerated in my concrete cocoon, I remain aloof and collect the refuse and make it bright.

It is my job.

I am absent of stolen mentality and identity of the southern land, forlorn to accept the rough, stone hewed path laid before my feet, every stuttering step chasing small pox and crawling closer still to the dank quicksand of the peninsular swamps.

Destiny and a white man have brought me here, a man who sits in my house and eats my bread and impregnates my woman.

The iron tracks I laid ring with a golden love of foreign wealth, while connective biology falls against my back as I sleep to share oats and hard tack on the dirt floor of my canvas tent.

My Gaelic blood mingles with my Cantonese heritage and my native son craving communication steals my African cowboy instinct.

Where quilts are gathered and stitched in flat conversation, where mothers instruct daughters to pin-precision courting, where boxes are completed to offer virginity to the next available bachelor of thirty-five.

My Catskill roughness - carving swathes by thoughtless horsemen barreling down through spectral passes… darkness and ignorance in a time of enlightenment trips me up.

A canal, filled with songs of labor and prosperity and fifteen men… mules braying under loads of cotton and corn and wheat as they float from a puddle between the White North and me.

Where Portuguese boatmen ply trade with pepperoni and gentile fashion in a language all my own I rest on my laurels and expel virtue for the working class man.

I pick grapes and I am not allowed to drink.

Harmony, I fall between the cracks of middle nothingness, essential but overlooked upon route Sixty-Six, gobbling gorgeous burgers and smiling at giant plastic dinosaurs with graffiti on their bellies.

I am your poor and huddled masses being kicked in the crotch.

Inside the coalmine, blackened by scarring fuel for a consumption that digresses from natural faiths, dead within seven years from a cough no cherry flavored sweetness can exhume or expectorate.

At carnivals I am ridden, circular and complete as a nomad of critical acclaim, I am a sideshow barker, excused from civilization to sell tickets one for a dime, three for a quarter.

At Pocono’s resorts I am old death half-alive, gray in my roots and watching the next generation hate that they are not in Orlando sipping juice from a great mouse’s tit.

Alone, I am a composition of everything that I am,
in the smallest detail no microscope can extract.
A pane of glass swimming universe constrained,
under the eye of those who wish to examine and catalogue me.

I am an American specimen.




Submitted on 2006-01-31 14:37:51     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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Comments


  Definitely a tribute to diversity, this brings images to a reader's mind that have surrounded them, but perhaps they had not noticed.

Because of that, it has a familiar ring, yet seems new. I like that.

This is an intense and important write.

Good job

Chrystine
| Posted on 2006-02-21 00:00:00 | by beatthedrum | [ Reply to This ]
  What can I say to this but...DAMN! This was some powerful writing. I was blown away by the many soicety levels and history you brought in to this piece. It was beyond well written. Your use of words cerated the emotins we the reader were to gleam and feel. Bravo, bravo, and bravo!

Maggie
| Posted on 2006-02-05 00:00:00 | by Magnolia Steele | [ Reply to This ]
  Wow.

I would like to quote all of my favorite lines, but that would be like half of your poem, which would boost up my words per comment, but wouldn't be too beneficial for you.

"a cough no cherry flavored sweetness can exhume or expectorate."

"I am your poor and huddled masses being kicked in the crotch."

Okay, I'll stop there.
I think you have a grammar & spelling issue in the 1st line. Shouldn't it be *I am asleep in a reflection* ?

I'm going to put this on in Fav, one because I really like it, and 2 because this one is choc full O' good stuff I'll have to ??? draw from later.

Very Nice Work (deserving of more feedback, but I think I have ADD, so I kinda understand),
We'll have to pass out some Ritalin on E.S. because too many folks are missing out on this one.

Nicely
| Posted on 2006-02-02 00:00:00 | by nicelyJ | [ Reply to This ]


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