Mark Cantrell, Author

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POEM: When Old Words Weigh Heavy

Posted by Mark Cantrell on May 22, 2016 at 7:35 PM


Dust Me Down

By Mark Cantrell


Sometimes

I feel like the living

Embodiment

Of Marx’s lesser known axiom:

About how the traditions

Of all the dead

Generations

Weigh down upon the brains

Of the living.

That’s me,

As I look around

At the desiccated paper

Corpses

Of my past works.

They call to me,

They invoke me to pull

Their remains from that

Mausoleum

Of shelving, to resurrect them

In a second shot at life.

No! No!

I sometimes cry,

Striving to find the words ahead,

To create something new, afresh, refreshed,

But the dead

Keep calling, keep pleading…

Don’t forget,

Let us live, they implore, keep us safe

In the womb of your skull,

Until you find us new minds

In which to dwell and swell and relish…

Dead generations,

Take up space,

Where my life needs room to grow.

My brain heaps heavy,

Bloated by the dust of old words.

I try to clear this clotted legacy and turn away,

But even now, I reach

For the shelves and the slavery

Of yesterday’s heavy haunting…


Mark Cantrell,

Stoke-on-Trent,

18 September 2007


Copyright © September 2007. All Rights Reserved.

 

Categories: POEM

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