08 III 2002 - 20:35 - poema_malum7

So. Poetica-Collab is back and better than ever! Or at least, it has a new design and, let me tell you, it does look spiffy.

On a side note: I've made about six updates to this diary in the past twenty-four hours, so if you've stepped away for a bit, why don't you page through?

The topic for this month was:

I chose compulsion, I think. You'll see. I don't usually write rhymed poems, and from this attempt, I think it's pretty clear why I don't.

the ferryman sits in a boat on the shore
his river long receded, his oars long gone to dust
his eyes are sunken, hollow, but they gaze, ever fierce
as with time watched his only move's forced by a passing gust:

once he had a river and the oars which steered his ship
but lack of faith and passing time have rendered him a ghost
still his too-thin arms his pallor jerk in fitful starts
despite the lack of lined-up dead of whom he sometimes boasts:

once he was proud, a deathless man, relentless in his stroke
and it's this his mind remembers if his body sees no soul
to bind to him; he stirs, a shade, and stretches forth thin bones
to row across what was the Styx with an insubstantial pole

the gods in disappearing forgot to grant that final gift
of death itself to that true ferryman, the welcome of the dead
not even cerebus for company he sifts upon the sands
phantom oars for tools he takes no heed of pain like lead

which spreads now through his body though he rows so fiercely still
his debt's to the gods who are defunct and to some duty:
the shadow of the ferryman sits boated on the shore
and forgets his pains, his loss, forgets he was once Charon.