Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Our Dogs Silent

Composition/photo by me, sharpening and dying by Planet.

Today, and only until dinner, is the last day I can read Hamster's birthday present, I can't find mine, have:


Weldon Kees

September was when it began.
Locusts dying in the fields; our dogs
Silent, moving like shadows on a wall;
And strange worms crawling; flies of a kind
We had never seen before; huge vineyard moths;
Badgers and snakes, abandoning
Their holes in the field; the fruit gone rotten;
Queer fungi sprouting; the fields and woods
Covered with spiderwebs; black vapors
Rising from the earth - all these,
And more began that fall. Ravens flew round
The hospital in pairs. Where there was water,
We could hear the sound of beating clothes
All through the night. We could not count
All the miscarriages, the quarrels, the jealousies.
And one day in a field I saw
A swarm of frogs, swollen and hideous,
Hundreds upon hundreds, sitting on each other,
Huddled together, silent, ominous,
And heard the sound of rushing wind.


Also too, the obvious:


  1. I thought it was Brian Eno at first.

    On another point: I thought you were a cat person.

    1. I think we've been through this - what do you think the DG in BLCKDGRD is for?

      I'm a cat person- it's cause the cats don't want a dog that I'm, for a moment, not a dog person. Once the two older cats pass, woof.

  2. Love the poem, fits my mood today. It's kind of a prediction of the accursed election. This guy Kees is like the H.P. Lovecraft of poets. Cthulu rises!

    1. DM me your address, I'll hook you up with his Collected.