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This Land ’07
a hard rain’s a-gonna fall…
-Bob Dylan
there’s a devil in the fields…
there’s a black baby buried
in your backyard…
red clown,
did you devour her soul
after the murder?
Did you offer her head
to the strange
vulture merchant?
your khaki demons
marched upon rebel wombs…
but when you pressed the trigger,
I saw your skeleton
(your ribs were rusted
near the place
where you once had nipples;
I found you
castrated too,
red clown…)
you buried the farmers
beneath a stolen earth…
to screw the death count
beneath their own fields
lurks the curse
of the hanged man now…
but what of the ghosts,
red clown?
I can see them revolving
in a dark ritual
around your office rooms…
and the odour of the black baby
in your backyard…
their skulls the colour of death
and murder in their bellies…
I can see them riding the bullet
It carries your daughter’s name.
[I think none can save you, not even your bloody newspapers that have sold out their souls]
a hard rain’s a-gonna fall…
-Bob Dylan
there’s a devil in the fields…
there’s a black baby buried
in your backyard…
red clown,
did you devour her soul
after the murder?
Did you offer her head
to the strange
vulture merchant?
your khaki demons
marched upon rebel wombs…
but when you pressed the trigger,
I saw your skeleton
(your ribs were rusted
near the place
where you once had nipples;
I found you
castrated too,
red clown…)
you buried the farmers
beneath a stolen earth…
to screw the death count
beneath their own fields
lurks the curse
of the hanged man now…
but what of the ghosts,
red clown?
I can see them revolving
in a dark ritual
around your office rooms…
and the odour of the black baby
in your backyard…
their skulls the colour of death
and murder in their bellies…
I can see them riding the bullet
It carries your daughter’s name.
[I think none can save you, not even your bloody newspapers that have sold out their souls]
9 comments:
Extremely direct and forceful… a vicious and commendable attack on the ‘red clown’. Apocalyptic.
The lines that would remain etched on my mind would be these:
‘…you buried the farmers
beneath a stolen earth…
to screw the death count
beneath their own fields
lurks the curse
of the hanged man now…
but what of the ghosts,
red clown?’
Perhaps they affect me more because this is the truth… brutal truth.
Careful buddy, the watchdogs might just come snapping at your heels...
(Lucky though this is not China)
Hope you know what I mean.
Scarring. Angry... like a canvas hit with red and black... ripped apart by the violence.
I think your poem was upfront, direct and a true vision.
Fantastic.
excellent...
one of your best in my opinion..
for the first time you have not used any flowery imagery or absatrct concepts rather a starightforward account of your feeling and also of a thousand more...
*the blood of these farmers wont go in vain*
"Black is the color, where none is the number . . .
Intense.
But one-sided.
Angst of so many things happening...and the revolution that never really comes. Really nice
this one's amazing.
good song seems u r hurt but i love bob dylan nos so good post
This one's a fav o mine.Very well composed.Suits the occasion.Im speechless...simply awesum
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