Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Ireland

This rock—
Surfaced
In a wind-blown span
Of green.

A stronghold
To which blades bow
In respect
Of fortitude.

Some rocks
Clan together,
Forming
Piles/Paths/Walls.

Not this rock.
This rock is
An island,
Entirely…

2 comments:

Chris Andrews said...

I like that this conjures up memories of Ireland, but it's subtle. It uses some typical conventions "green-ness", but doesn't beat you over the head with them. I like the "clan together" line too.

Edward Yoo said...

This poem rocks! Every stanza holds its own weight and offers an interesting image. I'm curious why you chose the ellipses to end the poem and not a period.