My poetry critiquing course has began. heres the first result: a - TopicsExpress



          

My poetry critiquing course has began. heres the first result: a new version of A Trouser Ecology. Intro Note: In Frances Drome region, the Maquis or French Resistances struggle against Nazi occupation saw forty-three of their volunteers from rural Venterol, Nyons, Grignan and Valraes, massacred by the SS on June 12, 1944. In Their Memory. A Trouser Ecology Men of the Marquis strive where the enemy dare not, ceding the embittered valley, our doctor harassed and shot, teachers beaten before roses, men shunted to German factories -bloody oath- we fondly spy Venterol and Valreas, the Rhone groaning, liberation born of worn trousers and dirty socks. Under nights wilt showers, chill cascades and ice, trousers and I on Venterols sleeping slopes within hares breath of my cold weapon, visions of my wife, a back to stroke, fingers in hair, eyes of smoke - cheek of the Marquis - nesting in grit and stone a single blanket comforts me. Sunrise to armpit reality, a whiff of shiftiness, brotherly air. When the microscopic invades your scalp and Nazis your land, all shall itch. Brothers call for action, and leaders for patience. Hiding refugee, airmen and escapee, learning regimen and drill, pushing Will up hill to cache and carry our legs bearing the Baronnies, driving our trousers to the worlds end, we follow the path of Free France, hoe and rifle, plough and grenade ready for some-day-soon. The years shall drive Nazis ragged. In our upland of soiled reality, watershed eyes, lashes entangled in sleepy pining, swamp aromatics, nipples taut, forehead a palisade, a nose for No-surrender. With only blades of grass free peoples are made of standing tall. Our leaders speak of springs welling beneath our boots, flowing from hills into valley, nurturing the fruits of liberty. We farmers forbid optimism, the grace to fine words, our offspring toes wiggling, knees a wildlife refuge, inner thighs of boar and toad. Itchiness is spiky time, all of us thinking, some-day soon, some day soon, our trousers bearing the years as interlude to victory.
Posted on: Sun, 10 Aug 2014 04:34:50 +0000

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