Obscurity Poems: 226 / 500

Ellipses For The Newly Dead Come To Ground

Rating: 5.0


An ellipsis (plural ellipses; from the Ancient Greek: ἔλλειψις, élleipsis, 'omission' or 'falling short') is a series of dots (typically three, such as "…") that usually indicates an intentional omission of a word, sentence, or whole section from a text without altering its original meaning. - from Wikipedia


1: of, relating to, or shaped like an ellipse
2 a: of, relating to, or marked by ellipsis or an ellipsis
b (1) : of, relating to, or marked by extreme economy of speech or writing (2) : of or relating to deliberate obscurity (as of literary or conversational style)- Merriam-Webster.com


Inspired by Edgar Degas's painting, Singer In Green (imaged beneath the text) ,
and by shades of measure and cadence in an Allen Tate poem, just memory
echoes of music in the poem, not necessarily content though his poem's setting
is a graveyard and my poem is clearly about death, the dead, and who and what
remains of both the living and the dead.

for Mark, Toni, always for Judy Asher


wild sweetness is a stolen base
the tongue an untended garden

here is a burning soft hands can know
which shall finally run some headlong
for home an inherited circle at the end
latter-day glad sons gathering berries
from shadows

the newly dead come to ground


leap only to love

34th Street in the
alley between scrapers
toward relation jump lurch
even twist in air

happiest between world wars
most certainly born too late

would have been would be now
brief florid flame a life of art and
throwing over avoiding trench
carnage paintbrush in one hand
lover in the other all the world
a passing rage

just to be clear Miss Dickinson

rage is that thing with



new uses for knives


jouissance is the bite

take lean brown or brawn
a love for all the above even
if once a week sneak steal
away to primed nerves drives
swell up thrust thrive then
share a meal wine again abed
to lie all Buddha smiles resting
one's head upon suspiring
chest breath sour/sweet
aftertaste afterglow bodies'

pure heart

in where/what forces

the bite


bite, Love,

in spite of tribal affiliation


Still this grief

trees just below

where I will leap

blossom brightly

as does the

sun burst from

cloud dark

such sheen on

fragile things


branches ripped

to street last night

the high howl


was that me)

even this urban

crawl space sheer





such would be blasphemy
not to say it to give praise

entire body the entire
crawl space the planet
nothing but grief


all grief and quandry

unanswerable quandry


Dear Incomprehension,

all our Sun goes nova

blossoms perform for eyes

conform trees toward affinities

for seasons

rooted they are

and remain in place

are places without

envy of motion they

even fall or parts do

which does not

surprise the sky

or dirt

all hurt seems born

to every option

seems to some how

know every plot

So let all

verb tenses confuse themselves

for seasons

the newly dead are come to ground


Ellipses For The Newly Dead Come To Ground
Friday, June 29, 2018
Obscurity Poems: 226 / 500
Topic(s) of this poem: lamentations
The image of Degas's painting is easily found on manysites.I do not own rights to it at all.Just grateful to have access to it.

Excerpt of Tate's poem to give the reader a sense of what I value most in it and in my own variant poetic du jour and mood. The Degas painting, most evocative, exquisite, feeling toned and otherly, is primary inspiration for my poem:

Row after row with strict impunity
The headstones yield their names to the element,
The wind whirrs without recollection;
In the riven troughs the splayed leaves
Pile up, of nature the casual sacrament
To the seasonal eternity of death;
Then driven by the fierce scrutiny
Of heaven to their election in the vast breath,
They sough the rumour of mortality.

Autumn is desolation in the plot
Of a thousand acres where these memories grow
From the inexhaustible bodies that are not
Dead, but feed the grass row after rich row.
....Dazed by the wind, only the wind
The leaves flying, plunge

You know who have waited by the wall
The twilight certainty of an animal,
Those midnight restitutions of the blood
You know- the immitigable pines, the smoky frieze
Of the sky, the sudden call: you know the rage,
The cold pool left by the mounting flood,
Of muted Zeno and Parmenides.
You who have waited for the angry resolution
Of those desires that should be yours tomorrow,
You know the unimportant shrift of death
And praise the vision
And praise the arrogant circumstance
Of those who fall
Rank upon rank, hurried beyond decision-
Here by the sagging gate, stopped by the wall.

Seeing, seeing only the leaves
Flying, plunge and expire
Ravi Kopra 25 July 2018

A poem for personal diary, hard to read for lack of punctuation. It could be made into few short poems after revisions. The poem also lacks structure and coherence, and staggers randomly and incomprehensibly.

0 2 Reply
Warren Falcón 26 July 2018

What's the intent of yer comment? does it serve me or others or yerself? U gave opinion. So what? Feel better now 4 yer terse indication of what U value N a poem? I read yer poetry 2 see if there's anything other than conventional styles 2 learn. Not much. We both revere somesame poets; I honor that. Personal diary is N yer poems 2 that R like journalism. Reporting & flora don't make poetry. The indulgent fields of the Lord R radically open & allowing.

0 0 Reply
Mahtab Bangalee 25 July 2018

Nicely penned the lamentation in the mould of elegy - the entire crawl space the planet nothing but grief grief all grief and quandry unanswerable /// newly dead has come to ground happiness had but now grief astound....

1 0 Reply
Bernard F. Asuncion 25 July 2018

Such a great write, Warren... congrats for being chosen...10++++

2 0 Reply