Stop All the Clocks: Second Elegy

    Let Zuckerberg's brainchild go mute;

Let Harvard sophomores stop being cute;

    Let pizza-parlours lose their dough,

    The grass-banked Charles dry up its flow.


    Dive-bars on Causeway Street, close down.

Rose-petals, wither. Summer leaves, turn brown.

    Skies, grow dark as a grunge-band's mood:

    Young buskers, pause and sit and brood.


    Priest, talk no more of hell and sin.

Used car salesman, efface that grating grin.

    O politician, quit your spiel.

    My friend lies dead. Bow down and kneel.


    I've thought of sending her a text.

But her fierce heart's stopped beating. Christ, what next?

    I've wept a Black Sea ten miles deep:

    There's nothing I can do but weep.


    Her shoulder's cold. I cannot lean.

We won't chat on the phone till 2:15.

    Her eyes are locked against the sun:

    The days I laughed with her are done.

Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 188 times
Written on 2018-08-07 at 09:50

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email
dott Print text

Her eyes are locked with the Sun now, her suitor now. You may grieve and command the clocks of the world to stop but she is one with the nature now. Beautiful poem.

Scharlie Meeuws
it started with your title, very powerful, that drew my attention. the emotion of grief is all consuming, i knowledge, my friend. it is a catharsis writing it down. our heads are always around and with us.
loved your poem

josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
My condolences, Thomas. Your painful grief trumps any comments I may have about style and structure.

Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Wonderfully introduced in the first three stanza where we are not sure about the reason for the woe. And then the drop into the reality of the piece that gives us the entire understanding of the lead-up. The rhymes are great and the ending is so heart wrenching. Brilliant.

ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
It is the simple - mundane episodes - of life times we recall
Though sad - gives us reasons to smile - tears - that help
To sooth the pains
preasts - pasters - can course pains of anger - when they

DO not undestand - uses cleshays - that do not help at all!
When my siters died at the ge of 21 - my dad whent to to see
A minster - the miniter said to dad: '' It's gods way of bringing you back to - god!

From the title, I immediately knew this was going to be a poem about death, probably because of the line I fondly recall from Auden's "Funeral Blues".

I admire that you've chosen everyday, mundane things like pizza-parlours.

Though you have maintained the four lines throughout, I think the "My friend lies dead" needs its own separate gravity, rather than being dumped in a verse of priests and salesman. Frankly, I could do with only the last nine lines.

I've seen you use structures like "Rose-petals, wither. Summer leaves, turn brown.", the object-command form. This would have been better without it. It needs the commanding start of a "let", "put", "pack", "pour" so prominent in Auden's piece, the start with a verb, rather than a noun(summer leaf). I'd even suggest using complete sentences. I want to feel your grief, but am not able to with your poem.


Call It What You Will
by Thomas DeFreitas