The Crucified Matador

April 2, 2012

“The Crucified Matador”

My hair is kept like Samson’s,
Heart held within a clenched fist.
Dammit Delilah drop those scissors!!

The Sunday wind violently rips the leaves
From the sycamore,
Scattering them throughout the mouth
of the sky.

As the evening approaches,
It reeks of old memories and stale beer.

Not wanting to come down
I watch the orange sun
Melt into the empty lot across the street.
Dying slowly behind the tall grass
And forgotten leaves.

Obsessing over the edges of the universe
And the notion of God,
I realize I’ve never seen him in a sunset
Or the gentle sycamore.
I’ve only seen him on the ground
In the ants, gnawing at the bones
Of a decaying dove.

Bloody hammers run
Unbridled throughout my skull
Keeping me awake.

My body thatched together
With copper wire and crooked branches.
I am hollow at the station,
A specter full of metal,
A bull fenced in,
Pacing the same four corners
Searching for some sign of grace
So I can finally unclench my fist.

~ by T.H.L

copyright 2009

***************************************************************

L had emailed this one back in 2009, around the time it was written. I actually remember hearing him read this one to me over the phone. He often called me after finishing a poem. He’d read and then I’d nay or yay it. There were more yays than nays.

Sometimes he’d even call me in the process of writing and I’d give him constructive criticism or make suggestions, but I’ve always believed he had a keen way with words. He didn’t need to be schooled by an amateur like myself, even though he was also an amateur writer. I may have better grammar, but he was a natural. He possessed a gift and held such a creative spark in his pen that I could only dream of having. His mind overflowed with poetics.

This is just one of the many mementos he left me with.


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5 Responses to “The Crucified Matador”

  1. It is a fine poem that the reader must read a second or third time to understand was much as one can and in that the poem appeals enough to make one inclined to do just that. Thanks visit my blog.

  2. it’s a good poem. I find the part about finding god in gnawed bones very original.

    • PAZ said

      I agree! That’s my favorite phrase of the entire piece–it makes the poem in my humble/not so humble opinion. From what I remember, it’s the only part he expressed real satisfaction with.

      Not his absolute best, but a real goodie. And hey, it fits with this whole palm Sunday/Jebus holy week.

  3. Uncle Tree said

    One’s bark must be rough and tougher than
    a bull full of bloody hammers and horned fists.

    My leaves shall not be forgotten.
    Peace be with you this Easter weekend!

    Hanging with the Prince Of Peace, I am.
    Uncle Tree 🙂

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