George Murdock

El Dorado - Poem by George Murdock

The half-lit wilting and leafless white Birch
against the pink and gray Pinatubo sunset,
their fragile contrast to the skyline like haggard wraiths.
We sit on a cement bench on the shore of the artificial lake
made of gunite and filled with reclaimed water,
pitching choclate raisins at mud hens.
Watching them tip on end to
retrieve the morsels in the dark slurry.
There is a constant sound of rushing water in the distance,
as if the cement river of the San Gabriel,
became confused with the roar
of the river grade freeway.
Wandering out we came upon the perfect circle
of brown and tan goose feathers, laid like a wreath
or a fairy circle.
The content of this symmetry fed a hungry predator.
This thing construed to provide illusion.
This stand of planted trees and sewer streams
can’t in its failing exhibition,
replace the wild and natural country
which was once El Dorado.
It can only convince you for a while.

Comments about El Dorado by George Murdock

  • Nimal Dunuhinga (4/19/2009 9:27:00 AM)

    This word painting would hang in a frame on every heart wall. (Report)Reply

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  • Sathyanarayana M V SSathyanarayana M V S (11/14/2008 8:15:00 AM)

    Great imagery. The rhythm in right tunes to please the reader..... (Report)Reply

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  • John Kay (12/5/2005 2:49:00 PM)

    George...nice imagery leading up to my favorite preoccupation-deception/self-deception; how could we live without it. And if it wasn't for poets like you maybe we wouldn't know the difference. Yeah, you want us to know the difference...good work here. (Report)Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, December 5, 2005

Poem Edited: Monday, December 12, 2005

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