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Click hereFor Charles, in a spirit of incandescent fury.
Can I confess how I liked you -
Turning under hand like a whiplash,
The strong heavy strike of you
With an angry gleam risen and the ghost of a hood.
Black snake. The good black snake.
Snake that devours other snakes.
Still startling to find under your hand
In the ruin of a crumbling half-wall –
But taut, muscled – good to the touch,
If furious.
(The snake’s hard coil –
I do not know
If I ever will have,
Or can.
But that pure ragged rage
I craved, though could not
In my utmost struggle
Catch.)
I want no clumsy log to cast at you;
No jealousy for that lord of the earth.
At bay the black-bead gleaming eyes were fixed
On the sunrise, and the body’s coil and strike
Carried eastward, a bolt of pure fury and conviction:
A straight black arrow from a sinewy bow.
There is more to this than I am reading and I've read it twice. Very good description. Interesting construction of the poem. Okay, time to go read it again and figure out more of the symbolism....
Foooooolish :D
I love the sinful edge of snakes, and the power they possess to evoke such fear is truly delicious. You've captured the raw and ragged. I really enjoyed this poem.
~lucky
Never have I seen snakes described so passionately and sensuously before. Demonstrates them in a whole new perspective.
sensiously and passionately delivered - snakes ain't normally like this - are they???