Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,195 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

The Hibernal Sky - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Build up your stores by the dozens,
Oh my French cousins:
Put your shoes in the racks and the ovens,
Build your stores by the dozens,
While the weather is wolfing in,
Singing its song along the swish tailed mountain,
And the locusts are buried like sad jewels,
Like spirited cadavers wherever they lie,
The plagues peppering the earth under sky;
And put your husband in
And say goodbye, the soul’s shoe store is under
Your lock and key,
And touch your hands down along the familiar
Tarmac, and think of me,
With the wind wolfing in, forcing the arcade of
Bees under flower,
Quivering the roots, and you such a flower in a place
Of jasmine windows,
In a place of immaculate windows, where dreams start
Laying out under the pattering of milk clouds;
And lay your daughter down and say goodbye,
For you will make a thousand dreams you will have
To sell like sending ships away to kill for gold
While the swish tailed mountain lives forever,
Swishing its midway’s flumes, each stone seeming to speak
Gossiping when you don’t wake up;
But those are really just the things you cannot hope to
And your shoes hang and bake behind the pure glass
Exhibits, but they never fit me,
But speak in the tongues of gibbets, as the wolf with very
Young eyes touches down his tongue to your tarmac
And you seem to swing and sigh
Underneath the swish tailed mountain underneath
The hibernal sky.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, December 21, 2009

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