Saturday, August 9, 2008

December (part II, my readwritepoem for #39)


Five, nineteen, twenty years later
I shall never forget my town in December
where night snow got dirty by day,
as passers-by ,we’d all grow old, silent and gray,
colorless dormant trees December would confine.

One day Mother got home too soon,
one December well before noon
with neurotic shiver she shouts about days of doom
“I beg, hide your head, lock your room”!
Bareheaded, young rebels were facing the army.

My Nana was eighty years old;
“I had seen two wars of the world”
she said we would need bread and flour,
“I‘d be back in a quarter an hour,
an old lady too small for their guns, I’d be fine”

My Nana, too old to fear death,
and all in young age were no longer afraid.
Their dance of colors and laughter
Flooded the town: one stream, two and ten more after,
barehanded, deathless rebels faced the army.

One December Nana bought back bread and a song
home. “Raise your head, come along,
fear not death, we’re only afraid
we’d all grow old, silent and gray”.
Mother locked my door and she left me to pine

for the dream of colors in spring;
bloom’d trees will raise in the morning as birds to sing.
Whilst left alone to deal with my strife,
I heard the machine guns the first time in my life,
bare-chested, young rebels bleed over the army.

Five, Nineteen, Twenty years later
we lull our dead from December,
for all whom lived through that day don't forget to pray
as they grow old, tired and gray,
springless dormant trees December will confine.


ren.kat said...

I wish none of us would every have to hear machine guns for the first time.

thank you for this.


Annamari said...

thank you for the prompt.
It is something I wanted to write about a long time ago. I just wish it did not sound like I wrote it when I was 14, but I shall return to it if I would ever be able to master the language better.

Nathan said...

This is beautiful. You manage to capture a sense of urgency within the form -- a difficult thing to do.
ps: I grew up near Pittsburgh. It's a great city!

Jo said...

Yes, a terrifying sound.....I think you did a good job here with a tricky form, I love the grandmother too small for their guns.

Annamari said...

thank you

it is so hard to put such an thank you

it is so hard to put such an experience in words with its mix of feelings: panic, excitement, joy, worry and that terrifying sound of the machine guns. I appreciate your feedback - it means a lot to me to be able to reach out to you in spite of my limited means.
It is especially hard for those whom were among the young rebels, even now, almost twenty years later their spring had not bloomed completely. As your poem says Jo, societies are resisting change even when required by basic human rights and dignity so they are moving a lot slower, too slow for the people that sacrificed themselves for the change

Crafty Green Poet said...

this has a real and disturbing sense of immediacy. Thanks for sharing

anthonynorth said...

This is so powerful, the images stark, so real.

Lirone said...

Thank you for this opportunity to meet your Nana, who seems like an amazing person!

twitches said...

I really like the repetition and rhythm of "Five, Nineteen, Twenty years later"

Annamari said...

Nana was an amazing person indeed, she would of been 100 this year...


I am pleased that I could grasp the memory of such an event-the shooting of unarmed people that march for their freedom.
twitches -
thanks."twenty years later' is kind of Alexander Dumas though, something I read when I was 14.