Graffiti on a desert boulder (Ver. 3)

[LeoVictorBriones (poetremains)]

If you could give me a slab of clay,
loam of earth, glue of God—
I would not have sculpted this day.

I awake in the morning to a marine layer
85 degrees at 6 am in May.
Too damn hot, too damn early.

I get in my car and head east,
from the freeways that intersect
leading into the great Inland Empire,
the 60 cuts off at the 71 and veers south.

The hills are brown now,
hills that have rolled like this for millions of years, perhaps.
Perhaps just six thousand and science is wrong.
But what the hell, I am sick of petty arguments.

Quake of earth
bubbling caldron from the center.
I am going right, right,
left, left, right, right.
I hate why I am doing this.

When I finally get out to the high desert on the flats
between The Cleveland national forest,
I look around at these forever hills—
sage and rock
bold thick granite
popping out of earth
Telling me some thing
but God I have no idea what.

You were free,
you were free once.
Just for a second
but damn it, you were free.
Now I am going to speak to you behind glass—

wasn’t freedom worth
more than glory?

[Tina (Firefly)]

Although I know the "story" behind this poem, my first (blink) reaction was centered on that last verse. Probably you were intentional in the metaphor, but it spoke to me so strongly of the human condition in general and particular individuals specifically. You have very very skillfully concluded this piece and, in my opinion, it (for most of us) is not an easy poem to conclude.

Now, having said that (oh those gerunds!), I see another possible way to begin this:

Give me a slab of clay, loam of earth,
glue of God -- and there would be no way
I would have sculpted this day.

The rest of the narrative seems easy, natural and slightly imperfect, just as it should as the author meanders along the highways of his mind and makes an unsuccessful effort to distract himself from the purpose of this trip. The funny thing is this:

At the end of the highway, you find an answer.

I love this. Tina

[mfwilkie]

Leo,

Have read this a few times and I'd at least like a hint of 'who'.

I need some connection to the emotion in the draft.

You might look at some heavy trim; taking out a few of the 'i's
and saving them for where it counts.

I think your opening would work better as the last stanza, but simplified.


Here's some messing:

Maggie

it's early May and early morning
already too damn hot for what I have to do...

my/the car heads east,
into the great Inland Empire,
where 60 cuts off at 71,
I veer south.

The hills are brown now,
hills that have rolled like this for millions of years, perhaps.
Perhaps science is wrong.
But what the hell, I am sick of petty arguments.

Quake of earth
bubbling caldron from the center.
I am Going right, right,
left, left, right, then right again.
I hate why I am doing this.

When I finally get out to the high desert on the flats
between The Cleveland national forest,
I look around at these forever historied hills—
or hills that won't give up theur secrets
sage and rock
bold thick granite
popping out of earth
Telling me some thing
but God I have no idea what. * I'd tighten this stanza.
You were free,
you were free once.
Just for a second
but damn it, you were free.
Now I am going to speak to you behind glass—

wasn’t freedom worth
more than glory?

Given the power of God,
I would not have sculpted this day.

[purplejacket]

Here's some further messing, mostly removals, some revision, with a hint of an apology that I might not really mean (sorry), even though I wrestled with my angel. Other people's poems are as close as I come to writing sometimes. I'm sorry, but the angel lost :::



Early morning, early May
Already too damn hot

Have to head east
Into Great Inland Empire
Then south

Hills are brown now
Have rolled like this for long enough
To prove petty arguments wrong

Right.left.left.right.
Right again
Hate why I am passing
That high desert on the flats
Of Cleveland national forest

I look at secret forever hills—
Bold granite, sage, shelvin rock,
Slab of clay, loam of earth, glue of
God I have no idea what.

Now I speak to you behind glass—
Just once you were
Damn it, remember? just for a second but
You were free!
Wasn’t freedom bigger than glory?

By the power of God,
I would not have sculpted this day.




(don't know if you know, I don't suppose many do any more - shelvin rock is a rock outcropping that can be used as shelter for a weary traveler.)

[Marion Poirier]

Excellent poem, Leo. A couple of suggestions for minor
changes to take or leave or stay with poetic license. M

The hills are brown now,
hills that have rolled like this for millions of years, perhaps.
perhaps just six thousand and science is wrong.
but What the hell, I am sick of petty arguments.

Quake of earth
bubbling caldron from the center.
I am going right, right,
left, left, right, right.
I hate why I am doing this.

When I finally get out to the high desert on the flats
between The Cleveland national forest,
I look around at these forever hills—
sage and rock
bold thick granite
popping out of earth
telling me something.
but God, comma I have no idea what.

You were free,
you were free once - dash
just for a second
but damn it, you were free.
Now I am going to speak to you behind glass—

wasn’t freedom worth
more than glory?