saturday night in the big city

Once I saw a seed gone bad,
a twisted, tortured face it had,
its roots and voice were trapped inside,
life would never break through here;
tomorrow would wait forever.

It was a futile, little, budless thing,
full of sadness, hopeless,
abandoned by its maker.
It’s she who weeps beside you now
and shrieks
and scares the birds and squirrels
and bites the children who used to climb upon her.

There’s one who watches
from a distance
her insanity, his persistence,
helpless as a man
who’s lost his hands
and shattered, shattered,
shattered by the bitter taste of
mildew in the seedbins,
in the corn and acorn
and in the arms and under
the sway and shadow
of an old oak tree

This entry was posted in art, poetry, stories. Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to saturday night in the big city

  1. Tina says:

    Nice…Seems we have both been thinking of the Oak…


  2. suburbanlife says:

    Rick – while reading the first version of this, i was busy trying to make line breaks where they might fit for more ease in reading and pausing for breath and emphasis. Now, you have posted this later version, with the line breaks as i envisioned them. The poem flows and saddens me all the more. beautiful painting in words. G


  3. Marlowe44 says:

    Fantastic poem. It is primordial and future shock all in one. It is Mobbsian in its sadness and insight and imagery. I like what “G” from suburbanlife said. All that incredible poetry of yours that I “rearranged” had to do with line breaks, how that can change the thrust and ebb of the piece. Words on a page, broken into specific lines to evoke, to dissuade, to cajole, to entertain, to challenge. Good stuff.



  4. rick mobbs says:

    Hi Tina, maybe it’s the time of year we are rolling into that brings these things to mind. And the oaks lend us so many metaphors.

    Thanks for the thoughts Suburbanlife. I haven’t experimented much with line breaks. After a certain point editing makes me dizzy. But you and Glenn are right about the usefulness of doing so.

    Glenn, I see what you mean. Thanks.


  5. annieepoetry says:

    “It was a futile, little, budless thing” I like the sound of that
    and the meaning.

    I brother is in war. May the light guide him. It is an angry and sad thing, war.

    I carry war in my heart until there is peace -for my brother and your son, and rest who must hump violence.


  6. ozymandiaz says:

    Damn, Rick, its been awhile since I have read your poetry I guess. I had forgoten how good you are at it.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s