From the Frontier of Writing
The tightness and the nilness round that space
when the car stops in the road, the troops inspect
its make and number and, as one bends his face
towards your window, you catch sight of more
on a hill beyond, eyeing with intent
down cradled guns that hold you under cover
and everything is pure interrogation
until a rifle motions and you move
with guarded unconcerned acceleration--
a little emptier, a little spent
as always by that quiver in the self,
subjugated, yes, and obedient.
So you drive on to the frontier of writing
where it happens again. The guns on tripods;
the sergeant with his on-off mike repeating
data about you, waiting for the squawk
of clearance; the marksman training down
out of the sun upon you like a hawk.
And suddenly you're through, arraigned yet freed,
as if you'd passed from behind a waterfall
on the black current of a tarmac road
past armor-plated vehicles, out between
the posted soldiers flowing and receding
like tree shadows into the polished windscreen.
© 1987 Seamus Heaney
Good day, poets! Here we are — the last day of the Poetry Month — it must be a big sigh of relief for some of us while others may be pondering over the products of this harvest. At this juncture, I think it would be beautiful to acknowledge all the creative labour that goes into writing as we celebrate the end of this month. So, let's have a round of applause for all of us, for all those who managed to see 30 days through, for all those who let the muse work it out for them because one absolute number (of days or of poems) doesn't really matter, for all those who read and supported their poet friends, and for all those who write in any way and anytime they want.
This is Anmol (alias HA) and I welcome you all to The Tuesday Platform at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. This is an open-link arena which means that you can add a link to a poem, old or new, in the widget down below. While you do so, do not forget to visit others' posts and share your words/comments with them. Here is the optional challenge for the last day of the marathon:
Write a poem in praise of a source of inspiration — your muse, your life, your own web of thoughts, your dreams or sleeplessness, your daily tasks, a favourite artist or musician, nature and environment, et al. Also, let's keep it between 30-60 words — there is a certain beauty in brevity after all.
I look forward to reading your take. Happy Writing!
P.s. We go back to our regular schedule of prompts from tomorrow onward. You can check it out here.