BLOODY RED MEAT

When given nuances, they cried
out for bloody red meat, “Give us
bowels, hearts, brains and bones.

Give us a fountain of blood wrapped
up in flesh. We want to butcher and
gorge upon bloody red meat.”

“We will not receive your subtle gifts.
We will dissect them and find them
bloodless. Give us bloody red meat!”

He said, “Alright! Sacred cows must be
sacrificed to get what you want.” They
said, “What? Our sacred cows? Never!”

He said, “If it is bloody red meat that
you want, understand that our land is
cracked and dry from a lack of blood upon
our own shores. Yet, I will still deliver.”

When the sacred cows were slaughtered,
the people screamed and howled for their
losses. They said to him, “Yes, we wanted
bloody red meat, but we wanted it to be

taken from your skinny bones. He said,
“I am afraid that this will not be possible,

for you see… change has truly come.”

 
 
Alice Parris

4 responses to “BLOODY RED MEAT

  1. Wow, Alice. What a punch of a poem! Rexamining the “civilized world” through the glasses of “savagery” produced compelling results. Good job and good work!

  2. Poems like this one write themselves. I will get a title, say BLOODY RED MEAT which could have been from a completely separate and remote situation I might have encountered. I will start writing. It emerges. Somewhere between the beginning and the end, it will morph into a statement which may be relevant to a certain group of people.

    When the right brain flow/automatic typing is done, then, the usual left-brain slashing of excess verbiage. The original thought and the final poem are rarely ever the same. I am not that clever. I did spend alot of time reading fairy tales as a child. I do know ancient and modern day history and geography, religions, and practices quite well.

    I will deliberately go for the haunting line that will linger, once the poem has formatting itself. I tried to discipline myself to write a certain type of poetry of a contrived nature. Editors were pleased. I never was. I, then,
    abandoned my experiment (after knowing that I could write the type of poem that ezine editors love) It did not satisfy. It rang out (to me) like an exercise in verbal gymnastics.

    My philosophy is this: what good is a poem if it does not touch someone and change them in someway? This oftentimes requires visceral imagery, emotive phrasing. We have all read something and said, “…been there, done that…” This is the type of writing that heals. It heals because it validates a specific point of view. Validation is so tremendously important. It is a pity that many are too selfish or busy to take the time to let someone else know that they are not so alone or weird as they might have imagined.
    Blessings 7,
    Alice

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