To the Beckoning Jailer
a poem
Tell me, behemoth,
why your big head looms
above me as I walk
amongst the smokeless fires.
Tell me what you whisper
in deep, high purple,
what precious words
hold coldness between
these molting, pitted trees.
Lurker, I sense not your reply,
silent king of the long, cold night.
Will you light a new fire,
send the smoke up past the blue,
locust, oak, and hickory?
Will you hasten the stars
draw ice upon the mantles?
Whereupon time be shoved back,
your beak pierces a midday light,
the warmth of exiting blooms
and apple ciders, suffusing it with blues,
with bright printed flannels.
Tell me why colors taste so sweet
in the hanging absence of you,
like grasses in mid November, lost now
to water. The white of mint and ozone,
reds of lingonberries. This contradiction,
a bitter onslaught.
Tell me why.
The secret words of your arrival,
incanted up to the ceaseless sea,
a cloud, thick with prayer,
spread in the ever-presence. Behemoth—
you are laden beneath promises
of crackling lattice frost, alighting the mind
with answers; brightening the eye.
At once, you hold open a door
and slam it. I am but a rusted leaf to you—
crushed.
O, beckoning jailer, I’d hold you
red, cracked hands, melt you like candle wax
if I could.
So tell me, beast, what gains he
who embraces the quivering waif curled
upon the mud; he, a storm unfurling?
About the Creator
Mackenzie Davis
“When you are describing a shape, or sound, or tint, don’t state the matter plainly, but put it in a hint. And learn to look at all things with a sort of mental squint.” Lewis Carroll
Boycott AI!
Copyright Mackenzie Davis.
Keep reading
More stories from Mackenzie Davis and writers in Poets and other communities.
Political Thirty-Three
Inevitable? A woman named Good is lost. Unforgivable. * Note: I don't think that I have to explain this one to anyone noting recent news, but I have included a video link below for future generations who can still feel empathy and compassion for someone who got caught up in history. And I was just too angry to say more with this piece.
By Kendall Defoe about 11 hours ago in Poets
Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (26)
A truly fantastic piece, Mackenzie! Congrats on the win ;)
Wow, your choice of language makes this feel right at home amongst "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" and other lyrical epics. Loved the personification of winter; when combined with the traditional language and cadence, it makes it feel like an ancient god, old and powerful. And the line "I am but a rusted leaf to you—crushed" works both perfectly with the subject matter and drives home that the narrator is yet one more sinner in the hands of that angry god. Well fucking done and a worthy winner if ever there was one 😎
Circling back to say congrats on the win, Mackenzie!!!! 🎉
Wow, Mackenzie, this is nothing short of stunning. Metaphors galore; such a standout piece. Congratulations on your win and top story placement❣👏🥳
Wooohooooo congratulations on your win! 🎉💖🎊🎉💖🎊
Congratulations on this poem and the wins! You always write with rich imagery and language. What really puts this one over the top for me is the elevated and unique metaphors. Excellent creativity. Well done!
Back to say congrats!
Congratulations! Of course it's in first place!
Bested by a legend. Congrats Mackenzie. Proud I am.
This is a very powerful and mysterious poem. Your use of colors and sensory words is fantastic and really brings the atmosphere to life. Congratulations on your Top Story!
the imagery, the sensory engagement - i love it all
When I grow up, I want to write poetry like this! What an incredible read, Mackenzie!
what a lovely poem.
The sensory detail in this poem is incredible, I could taste the cold, smell the smoke, see the flannel and frost. The imagery lingers like the aftertaste of something beautiful and haunting. Gorgeous work.
The way you loss brought to life and used it to paint a sad picture of regret/ loss and so much more!! Well done Mackenzie, and congrats on Top Story!!
Awesome
Beautiful. I love the line “ Tell me why colors taste so sweet in the hanging absence of you”
Beautiful
Amazing
Absolutely love the vibe of this. Great poem, Mackenzie!
Well fuck me sideways. This is sublime. I say that a lot when I read your pieces. But this was another of your best. Congrats on the Top Story too. Deserved as you're up there with the finest.
This is one of my favorites, Mackenzie. And that photograph!
another poem that reminds me I am no poet....excellent work.
I love the images you created with words 🥰 The white of mint and ozone, crackling lattice frost are simple but yet so mesmerising. Lovely work!
Such a rich metaphor, Mackenzie! In the last but one paragraph, shouldn’t it be “I’ll hold YOUR red hands”?