Visiting A Dead Man On A Summer Day Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEFGEH IAJK LMNOP QRSTUVW XYZA2B2 C2D2E2PF2A MG2H2I2J2E2K2L2OM2MN 2O2O2P2K2O2| In flat America in Chicago | A |
| Graceland cemetery on the German North Side | B |
| Forty feet of Corinthian candle | C |
| celebrate Pullman embedded | D |
| lonely raisin in a cake of concrete | E |
| The Potter Palmers float | F |
| in an island parthenon | G |
| Barons of hogfat railroads and wheat | E |
| are postmarked with angels and lambs | H |
| - | |
| But the Getty tomb white snow patterned | I |
| in a triangle of trees swims dappled with leaf shadow | A |
| sketched light arch within arch | J |
| delicate as fingernail moons | K |
| - | |
| The green doors should not be locked | L |
| Doors of fern and flower should not be shut | M |
| Louis Sullivan I sit on your grave | N |
| It is not now good weather for prophets | O |
| Sun eddies on the steelsmoke air like sinking honey | P |
| - | |
| On the inner green door of the Getty tomb | Q |
| a thighbone's throw from your stone | R |
| a marvel of growing blooming thrusting into seed | S |
| how all living wreathe and insinuate | T |
| in the circlet of repetition that never repeats | U |
| ever new birth never rebirth | V |
| Each tide pool microcosm spiraling from your hand | W |
| - | |
| Sullivan you had another five years | X |
| when your society would give you work | Y |
| Thirty years with want crackling in your hands | Z |
| Thirty after years with cities | A2 |
| flowering and turning grey in your beard | B2 |
| - | |
| All poets are unemployed nowadays | C2 |
| My country marches in its sleep | D2 |
| The past structures a heavy mausoleum | E2 |
| hiding its iron frame in masonry | P |
| Men burn like grass | F2 |
| while armies grow | A |
| - | |
| Thirty years in the vast rumbling gut | M |
| of this society you stormed | G2 |
| to be used screamed | H2 |
| no louder than any other breaking voice | I2 |
| The waste of a good man | J2 |
| bleeds the future that's come | E2 |
| in Chicago in flat America | K2 |
| where the poor still bleed from the teeth | L2 |
| housed in sewers and filing cabinets | O |
| where prophets may spit into the wind | M2 |
| till anger sleets their eyes shut | M |
| where this house that dances the seasons | N2 |
| and the braid of all living | O2 |
| and the joy of a man making his new good thing | O2 |
| is strange irrelevant as a meteor | P2 |
| in Chicago in flat America | K2 |
| in this year of our burning | O2 |
Marge Piercy
(1)
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