Sunday, October 14, 2012


A night enfolded in deepest purple
enveloping that dark muffled beat,
low drumming when ragged people meet
to mock and stop the homeless Sybil

who chants for the end of time
when Ezekiel will come down again
and save the damned human race
then warm her in his cave sublime.

A vision so complete and sure
no mocking could dissolve her trust
her hands raised so the streetlight must
guide his chariot straight to her.

We will not tell you what to think
when myth explodes among the lost
the gates fling wide, the mind is tossed
something strange reborn. Let's drink.

Sunday Mini-challenge
Envelope quatrain
abba cddc


  1. Well written, Lorna. I particularly like your line "We will not tell you what to think / when myth explodes...." It seems so apt a statement for our times.

  2. So well written and visual. I agree with Maureen. I too like the line "We will not tell you what to think when myth explodes" Powerful

  3. Just beautifully worked to form, Lorna!

  4. Your poem is a most original take on the topic - I find your attitude towards life and death to be more like that of Omar Khayyam: There's no hope so let's drink!
    Very refreshing, and your form is top drawer - how bold of you to use 'purple', notoriously unrhymeable :-)

  5. I agree with Kerry about your originality, Lorna. Well done, well done...I could imagine the entire scene, deftly drawn with an economy of words that is astonishing with an abba rhyme.

  6. Wonderful creation of atmosphere; it continues to resonate after reading.

  7. I love that you rhyme purple with Sybil and then continue to create this whole world around it...great imagery...weii done, Lorna!

  8. O.
    The world of myth explodes because he either meets her or doesn't meet her.
    At least I feel something. And so does she, I hope. I will stand with her and wait while the lightning strike of prophecy arrives!


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