Monday, September 05, 2005

On the Playground

Image hosted by


Blogger Radish King said...

How extraordinary to find this. This afternoon, about 2 hours ago, I began a poem with in the eternal leer of the playground.

5:45 PM  
Blogger Radish King said...

I'll come back and comment but I have to think about it for a while, absorb it. Needless to say it gave me the shivers.

5:47 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


It's a tiny little playground we live on, isn't it?

I love these 'coincidences' and I'd love it if you'd post that poem in a comment under this pic.



6:29 PM  
Blogger pghpoet said...

this is charged to the nth degree with fear for me.

it's their agony, the fetal positioning to protect themselves and the predatory shadow that does it. oh, this one goes in the 'chill hall of fame'

-excellent.- k

7:27 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

one of your very finest, scott, reaching into our deepest nightmares and grabbing hold. i keep wanting to turn away, and wish i knew how. little wonder that art has so many detractors. fuck art, just leave me alone, will ya, and while you're at it, quit talking and talking and talking about goddamn New Orleans, okay? all those starving people, those dead bodies, those children with no formula, you act like it's all my fault. what we ought to do is wait till it's all over with, step back and ponder things for a few years, then maybe we can get out our oils and pastels and paint a picture about it all, know what i mean?

11:40 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Hey Jim-

Thanks. This piece opens a door in me to things I don't want to face. What I know is that in many ways these children are our own children and they are us as well and we never stop feeling the terror and helplessness for any of them.

All best to you.


7:23 AM  
Blogger Radish King said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

2:41 PM  
Blogger Radish King said...

In the Eternal Leer of the Playground

A clumsy ritual--
you hang yourself
with your own striped tie.

Gnaw on leg of deer, rabbit, wild duck,
roasted turbot, grilled salmon. Hungry
for blood, rub the stewed fruits
into your skin, fall asleep with the light on,
thumb sucker, biter.

Your father made you hunt.
You wanted to take me,
you were strong enough,
you had the goods.

Say it in 5 languages. Oberon
spools out of the kingfisher's mouth,
the mermaid's chorus. By the time
you notice it's swollen,
it's ready to burst, a polyp
with double roots.

It was a prank.
It didn't mean a thing.
Sometimes people just die

2:43 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home