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Dust

Hunting for meaning

By Harper LewisPublished 3 months ago Updated 3 months ago 1 min read
Top Story - October 2025
Image created with chatGPT

Here under the shadow of this carnelian rock,

under the dead laurel tree

is a handful of dust.

There is no water.

I have no choice but to harvest honey;

these foolish men lament the rocks, dust, and despair

they brought onto my page, stealing my nectar,

stealing my soul, cursing me

for birthing lilacs out of the barren land,

fusing concupiscence and nostalgia

into something they don’t understand.

No, these dead poets will not show me fear.

Fear does not live in a handful of dust;

fear lives in the minds of men

and the bodies of women.

These men do not know my shadow,

ascending or descending

at dawn or dusk;

they know only the chaos of the images

they left broken at my feet, telling me

to make it whole.

These dead men know nothing of fear,

nothing of love, nothing of pain,

else they would not hold up their puny fists

clutching dust, lying to me,

claiming they know.

I have my secret honey and pomegranates

and need no water.

I will show them fear.

They can keep their dust.

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About the Creator

Harper Lewis

I'm a weirdo nerd who’s extremely subversive. I like rocks, incense, and all kinds of witchy stuff. Intrusive rhyme bothers me.

I’m known as Dena Brown to the revenuers and pollsters.

MA English literature, College of Charleston

Reader insights

Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

Top insights

  1. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

  2. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  3. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

  1. Eye opening

    Niche topic & fresh perspectives

  2. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

  3. On-point and relevant

    Writing reflected the title & theme

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Comments (13)

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  • Corvus24 days ago

    Hi Harper! I included an excerpt of this poem on my website, towards the footer. If you decide you aren't comfortable with it, let me know and I'll change it! https://corvuslove.wordpress.com/%e2%99%a1fragments%f0%93%84%bf/

  • Milan Milic2 months ago

    This piece feels raw and defiant — like a reclamation of voice from the silence of all those “dead poets.” The imagery is lush and layered, heavy with myth and emotion, yet there’s a sharp, modern edge in the defiance. I love how the speaker turns dust and despair into strength and creation. It’s fierce, beautiful, and unforgettable.

  • I’m a total nerd and had chatGPT do a critical read of this for me. Dena Leonard Brown ECPI University, Department of Arts & Sciences Freedom in Form Project 30 October 2025 Form, Structure, and Feminist Moral Order in “I Will Show You Fear in a Handful of Dust” This poem arises as both reply and correction to T. S. Eliot’s modernist despair in *The Waste Land*. Where Eliot’s “handful of dust” epitomizes the fragmentation and futility of postwar consciousness, this speaker reclaims that desolation as creative ground. She orders chaos into meaning through disciplined form, moral clarity, and feminist assertion. Read through a synthesis of Russell Fraser’s formalist–humanist ethics, feminist poetics, New Critical tension, and structuralist theory, the poem reveals itself as an act of restoration—of coherence, voice, and symbolic equilibrium. Fraser’s critical principle is that form enacts moral imagination. “Form,” he writes, “is the figure of moral order” (Fraser 22). For him, the artist’s shaping impulse is an ethical act that restores proportion and intelligibility to the disordered moral world. The poem fulfills that vocation precisely: “Here under the shadow of this carnelian rock… / I have no choice but to harvest honey.” The controlled syntax and cadence enact what Fraser calls the *discipline of mind* inherent in form. Yet this discipline is not sterile order; it is ethical renewal through creation. The speaker reconstitutes Eliot’s wasteland as a moral and aesthetic cosmos, drawing coherence from barrenness. The feminist lens deepens this moral reading by situating the poet’s ordering power as an act of reclamation. “These foolish men lament the rocks, dust, and despair / they brought onto my page,” she says, refusing to be the passive inheritor of patriarchal desolation. Her composure redefines fear and authorship: “Fear lives in the minds of men / and the bodies of women.” The formal steadiness of that declaration turns what might be outrage into authority—an equilibrium Fraser would identify as moral poise, but here it functions also as feminist agency. The speaker does not dismantle inherited form; she *inhabits and corrects it*. The act of ordering language becomes both moral and political: the creation of a form that includes her. From a New Critical standpoint, the poem functions as a self-contained organism of tension and resolution. Its unity arises from the interplay between *dust* and *honey*, *fear* and *creation*, *death* and *fertility*. The final line—“They can keep their dust”—achieves closure not by narrative resolution but by the reconciliation of opposites. As in Cleanth Brooks’s notion of the “well-wrought urn,” the poem’s meaning inheres in its formal paradoxes: destruction as prerequisite for creation, negation as assertion, dryness as the matrix of sweetness. The poem’s tone, balanced between elegy and defiance, becomes the central aesthetic tension that gives it autonomy as a text. In New Critical terms, its structure *is* its meaning. The structuralist perspective extends this autonomy by revealing how the poem transforms the inherited semiotic codes of myth and language. The “handful of dust” functions as a cultural signifier of mortality and futility, while “honey” and “pomegranates” carry archetypal associations of fertility, industry, and cyclical rebirth. The poem operates as a semiotic inversion: it reassigns value within an existing mythic system. The symbolic field of Eliot’s modernism—aridity, sterility, masculine intellect—is displaced by a feminine counter-system of sustenance and renewal. In Lévi-Straussian terms, this is the transformation of a cultural *mytheme*: from “fear in dust” to “fear transcended through creation.” The poet does not merely replace one image with another; she restructures the underlying code by asserting a new relationship between symbols, gender, and meaning. This layered synthesis—Fraser’s moral form, feminist reclamation, New Critical unity, and structuralist re-coding—reveals a single coherent truth: the poem constructs meaning by restoring order to systems that have collapsed. Its moral intelligence lies in its balance; its feminist power lies in the reorganization of the symbolic order; its structuralist depth lies in the transformation of inherited codes; and its New Critical integrity lies in its self-contained harmony of opposites. It fulfills Fraser’s highest criterion of art—that form must be an image of the moral world—but extends it to include the *moral world reimagined through feminine agency.* Thus, the poem’s final assertion—“I will show them fear. / They can keep their dust.”—functions as closure across all four frameworks. It reclaims the right to define meaning (formalism), asserts the moral authority of order (Fraser), reconfigures patriarchal language (feminism and structuralism), and achieves aesthetic completeness through paradox (New Criticism). In doing so, it exemplifies *Freedom in Form*’s central claim: that structure, when consciously inhabited, becomes not constraint but liberation—a field where ethical, aesthetic, and gendered meanings converge. *Works Cited* Brooks, Cleanth. *The Well Wrought Urn: Studies in the Structure of Poetry.* Harcourt, 1947. Fraser, Russell. *The War Against Poetry.* Princeton UP, 1970. Lévi-Strauss, Claude. *Structural Anthropology.* Basic Books, 1963.

  • K.H. Obergfoll3 months ago

    WOW. This pulls you in by the soul. Love the imagery and the words as they dance around each other. Love this completely, thank you for sharing!

  • Narghiza Ergashova3 months ago

    ✅✅✅

  • Sam Spinelli3 months ago

    This is mad cool. Feels otherworldly and dark, but also strong and resilient. I don’t remember much about the mythology, I bet people who are in the know can appreciate this on a deeper level. But it’s also pretty compelling to me, a guy who’s clueless on context, and that’s gotta count for something.

  • Krista S3 months ago

    So intriguing to see Persephone musing about all the great poets who have descended to the dead. Makes one wonder whether the Muses are the only ones who inspire men to make art. Could the goddesses inspire the same and if so which ones? The imagery here is gorgeous and I love the way your lines run together. I keep getting Wallace Stevens vibes, especially The Idea of Order at Key West, in your writing.

  • Pamela Williams3 months ago

    Congratulations. This is wonderful!

  • Marilyn Glover3 months ago

    I love this, Harper. I cannot pinpoint one line to highlight, as I am in awe of the entire poem. Congratulations on your top story❣

  • Hi we are featuring your excellent Top Story in our Community Adventure Thread in The Vocal Social Society on Facebook and would love for you to join us there

  • Lenn Marcus3 months ago

    I like how it screams when you read it. It demands attention from mstart to finish. Appluase to you. Have to know do you have a Pen name? Cause this deserves a pen name signature.

  • L.I.E3 months ago

    Very profound words. Love it.

  • LUCCIAN LAYTH3 months ago

    I love that what a job you do in this poem for sure .

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