Another poem. And you folks wondered what I was doing with myself all that time in India?
Blow-flies
Trouble and strife arrive
not singly
nor in pairs
but always in great buzzing
black swarmsThey blot out the sun
bringing dank chill and gloom
and having discovered
fertile, fecund soil
within my heart
lay tiny glistening eggs
like dark pearlsAnd when these hatch
the blind maggots
burrow deep
seeking not air and freedom
but to feed upon
the moist, tender flesh
of my beating coreI could attempt
to brush them away
or stomp them flat, but
their unique venom
kills first
any desire to live
without them- Becca Morn, March 2006
that’s a relief … hey becca … yeah I’d been trying to comment … I’ll be back later … gotta go to work … nice work
this poem is really nice … really fascinating
Thanks Ben! And sorry again about having forgotten about the comments. I’d not only turned them off, but I reset the default so that it set new posts that way, too.
Anyway, all better now. Glad you’re still around!
As for the poetry, there’s lots more where that came from.
cheers,
Becca
and be aware, you are spiritual leader for those bees and don’t let them deter your path…
Me, a spiritual leader? Nah, I’m just a gal with a machete, trying to slog my way through a jungle, on the other side of which is rumored to be this thing called ‘enlightenment.’