Tuesday, February 16, 2010

My Filthy Hovel

I must have this place.
A refuge, indecisive, balanced between the skies above,
the worms and stones below.
A fluctuant pile of sticks I arrange anywise,
to house my solace and my memories.
A fort where, from time to time, I can linger like a mute.
A ragged blanket to cover my sins.
A filthy hovel I drag my wounds into.


  1. Lance, A very visual, moving poem. I like the urgency of the first line and that it's a declarative statement. Love the image of "the worms and stones below" though I suggest changing order to "the stones and worms below" which conjures more of the writhing, primeval foundation of your place. Is fluctuant a word? It works. So, now it's a word. Great line: "A fluctuant pile of sticks I arrange anywise," "fluctuant" and "anywise" reverberate and work so well together. Stunning image and concept of a fort where you "linger like a mute." I like the contradiction of "fort" and "linger". "Linger" lends a languid tone to a militarist place but it reinforces your refuge motif and sets up so well for the silence of a mute who needs to escape the cacaphony of the world that only a fort can protect him from. Wonderful image of a ragged blanket (much used & abused) covering sins. The final line resounds like a knell. Excellent. What about this order: A filthy hovel into which I drag my wounds. Ending with the image of dragging wounds feels more vivid to me, and more consistent with the motif of refuge, fort, hovel, places of escape when wounded or vulnerable.

    I really like your poetry and look forward to your blog about your hovel and the visuals you'll include. M-L

  2. It's guys like you who make me not wanna write poetry. Once again you managed to pack a full house of images and emotions into a modicum of words. Tasty indeed.


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