The gentle shade wanders,
circling around the
small
empty
dark
square
room.
A single window births
a box-shaped ray of light
through the tired and
faded muslin curtains.
The dust on the grain of
the worn unfinished floorboards
dances gently as she steps
before drifting back to sleep.
She does not tire
She does not grow weary
She does not stop to rest
She does not seek escape
wandering, circling, roaming,
destitute
she thrives
2 comments:
So...I'm only averaging about 10 hour days since Wednesday...
I apologize for not posting yesterday (writer's block [ughh!]) and for any comments that may have been short or written with haste.
This too is a sort of love poem. I'm trying to create a metaphor for the mind and a single thought that keeps resurfacing. In this case, the speaker is thinking (obsessing) about a girl and cannot stop thinking about her; though, he, on some level, wishes he could.
Anyhow, read it for whatever it brings into your mind because maybe that's what it's supposed to mean...if anything...I guess. (I just hit 53 hours for the work week. I think I'm losing my mind.)
Bim-bang-tallywag-bo-pup-shereee! (Whatever that means. It just felt fun to say...guess I'm a little wacky today.)
I can't wait to look at all of your work when I take a break later.
Cheers,
Timmo
There is a clear and obssessive singular focus in this poem. The speaker's eyes fixated on this woman, and entranced by the particle effects that react to her every move. The obssession is alsco crystallized in the second to last stanza with your strong use of anaphora: I'm reminded of that ode of Jeffrey the cat that a modernist poet wrote (I'm forgetting who). I really like this poem, Tim, and I look forward to more of your posts once all the chaos around you slows down.
Bim-bang-tallywag-bo-pup-shereee to you too, good sir!
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