Lamont Palmer

(July 12th,1962 / Maryland)

Heaney


Up from the bog
And its wallowing magic
He exits in text

Into the richness of
introspection, washed
Like the feet of slatterns

By Christ; His hands
Settling on scrupulous
Surfaces of flesh.

We know who emerges
From a cleanliness,
Who wears cassava root as soul,

Even if only the Pollyannaish
Believe in it; what they
Don’t know won't ever hurt them,

Because the smell of mud
Inspires the perceptive, the
the ones who see more than

Ants in dirt, more than the
Movements of bashful critters
whose breaths are fleeting moonscapes.

In the vanishing, a
Calmer power exudes,
Palpable as hinterland rain,

Now entering memory and
Leveling its walls; a Joshua
Of imagery comes cupping lands.

Submitted: Thursday, October 24, 2013
Edited: Friday, October 25, 2013

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  • Iris Blue (11/18/2013 2:25:00 AM)

    An erudite and controlled poem with carefully chosen words and phrasing that combine to give this piece it's own internal music....seems like you have done your own Digging and dug deep into the heart and soul of one of poetry's great masters... (Report) Reply

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