The Permanent Duty of the Kansas Grass

At once, there is a single straw.
Maybe a clump, powerfully brittle,
pale-yellow grass, tall and massacred
by wind. It survives, loneliness palpable,
most alone while the sun slaughters
mercilessly, and the haggard grass stands,
as if forever, never to get help,
never to give solace, only to stand,
so miserably
by itself
through endless seasons,
as terse lesson,
the emptiness
our world,

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  1. #1 by Hudson Howl on February 20, 2012 - 9:16 pm

    Do you think ‘the grass’ see’s itself as you see it? And do you ever think what my ‘the grass’ thinks of you? Well your poem has me considering a lot of things now. A great poem that poses more questions than answer, at least for me.

    • #2 by Carl on February 29, 2012 - 9:44 pm

      How do we know that the grass does not have consciousness? How do we know where the consciousness we have comes from? What if we didn’t have it? Floating around like blobs, running into each other without hurting anyone.

  2. #3 by Carl D'Agostino on February 21, 2012 - 4:57 pm

    powerfully brittle, Dig these things whatever they’re called as lit device

    • #4 by Carl on February 29, 2012 - 9:45 pm

      Thank you, Carl!

  3. #5 by Kay Camden on February 22, 2012 - 8:31 am

    But the world would be emptier without it.

    • #6 by Carl on February 29, 2012 - 9:48 pm

      Yes, and we are glad that there truly is no real emptiness in the world. Thanks for coming by, Kay.

  4. #7 by siubhan on February 28, 2012 - 9:41 am

    Kay makes a good point, I think. You do paint a helluva vividly bleak picture. (I mean that as a good thing.) 🙂

    • #8 by Carl on February 29, 2012 - 9:49 pm

      I’m lucky to have your good thing comment. 🙂 Thank you for commenting!

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