A V for Natural Victory
Posted on Sunday 7th March 2010 3:31 pm
A V for natural Victory
Forming an emotional attachment to a plastic aquarium
Filled with pseudo liberated tadpoles.
A naïve child thought that he had grown from gravel
That he could summon the heavens to intervene
And that things shall live eternal
He had not grasped the certainty of death
He still thought he could empty the oceans
And fix the world
His mother said don’t worry
And that those splinters are not glass
But ice
And her heated heart , when placed upon his head
Shall chase them to pools
And he could kick the edges with toe tip
Make ripples with the wooden whip
Affirm his impact upon the world
Make himself feel reel
metamorphosis
he watched in wonder
He had hatched sea monkeys before
Left and right go the jars
An effort aerate the water
Like it said in the instruction leaflet
He asked dad what do after the food run out
For these monkeys ate special powders
Dad had no answer, retreated to bed an anxious child
Guilty that his hatchlings face starvation
Helpless in resource
He has no transport nor means to acquire
The monkeys all died
The water evaporated
He was left with a salt bed jam jar
He placed in the loft like a tombstone
And 3 years later, crying, resurrected it with water
And a wondrous thing was to happen
For in the coming months
Little white specks appeared in formation of hundreds
Flapping tiny white wings
Micro-dots of hope in an army
The children of the sea
They could be aphids
The formation formed a v-shape
Like emigrating whoopers
A v for natural victory
35 years later came a man
and with knowledge found they are just brine shrimp
the ingredients to a cocktail revealed
the dream was gone



Antony Owen
Thu 25th Feb 2010 11:17
Hey Pete thanks for commenting on the stonemason womb.I just read your poem on loss from your samples page. You instill a lot of passion into your poetry which I respect. The line 'I am all that is left
like the conserve we once made' evokes a very truthful comparison of grief through matter, its a good accessible image. I feel the poem deserves better than the line that follows which links tears and salt as its an image used all too often. I did 'feel' this poem and cared about the people and the language for the most part is good.
Poetry is like the workings of larvae the draft is a chrhysalis that holds a butterfly.