V. WHAT THE LIGHTNING SAW by Lacy D PhillipsV. WHAT THE LIGHTNING SAW
After the neon flicker red on vacant faces After the empty volume of the subway After the loneliness in crowded places The one-sided conversations on cell phones Digitized voices routed from tower to satellite Of lightning of smog-choked sky over cities He who was alive is now dying inside We who were vibrant are now dull With no attention span
Here is no grass but only concrete Concrete and no grass and the clogged storm drains The drains servicing streets squeezed between city blocks Which are themselves of concrete without grass If there were grass here wed risk gridlock to pause and sit Atop the concrete we barely pause in our walk to spit Mouths are dry and high-heeled feet are aching If there were only grass between bared toes In place of this concrete expanse that bakes tongues Here one can neither scream nor speak nor sing Yet there is not even silence in the bedrooms But vapid impersonal TV feeds without dialogue There is not even solitude in the bedrooms But red sweaty faces huffing and puffing From unmade beds in high-rise apartments If there were grass
And no concrete If there were concrete And also grass And grass A field A lawn among the concrete If there were the smell of fresh-cut grass Not the pavement And echo of car horns But blades of grass between cracks in concrete Where the dandelions grow along sidewalks Bloom die bloom die die die die But there is no grass
Who is the third who watches always over you? When I count, there are only you and I to make two But when I review the grainy footage There is always another watching with me Silent in an expensive suit and dark sunglasses I do not know whether friend or foe But who is that always watching?
What is the blast shivering the earth Rumble of terror and mourning Who is that lone young anonymous wandering Into crowded street cafés, detonating unsuspecting patrons Uncontained by security checkpoints What is the country over the oceans Revolts and reforms and implodes in the Middle East Falling towers New York, Madrid, London Baghdad, Kabul Unreal
05/13/2006 Author's Note: Very astringently modeled after lines 322 through 376 of "What the Thunder Said" the fifth canto of T.S. Eliot's masterwork, The Wasteland over which I obsess.
I was inspired by Julie Adams.
Posted on 05/14/2006 Copyright © 2025 Lacy D Phillips
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Julie Adams on 05/17/06 at 09:15 PM WOW, Lacy this is amazing! I love to model poems too, as you know, and this section you've chosen has clearly been meticulously mirrored in shape/form...regarding your personal creativity--loved: "smog-choked sky" AND "If there were grass here we�d risk gridlock to pause and sit" AND "Bloom die bloom die die die die"...the imagistic parallels presented in this poem fortify the strength of the overall tone...explosive, for lack of a better word...well done girl! PS: I love that section too (named in your title)...I think I might do something similar with "The Fire Sermon" --another favorite section for me...so glad something I did inspired work from you, in turn...congrats on a job well done...peace n love, *jewels* |
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