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Michael

Moderator

Member Rara Avis

since 1999-08-13

Posts 7666
California

0 posted 2013-07-27 12:34 PM

Lingering

The procession passes by here,
(Their eyes ablaze— their hearts sincere);
With words to share of life been blessed
By a soul Death recently harnessed.

So, one by one they pass, all sad,
For no more good times to be had.
But there, the line is quickly drawn
For, one by one, they all move on.

But me, I sit, eyes full of gloom,
As flowers decorate the tomb.
Yet, with time, pretty colors fade
Back to the earth from which we're made.

Where all that lingers now is doubt
Of what one cannot live without.
For without you I have not died,
Yet have not moved, nor have relied

On vision that my eyes attain...
For too much duress clothes, in vain,
The naked truth, yet fails to save
Even one mem'ry from the grave

I now sit by, all lessons learned—
Every last inch of hope well spurned...
A rope slipped easily overhead,
Once you've realized you too, are dead.

Michael Anderson

JerryPat2
Member Laureate

since 2011-02-06

Posts 16975
South Louisiana

1 posted 2013-07-27 01:24 PM

I'm sure you have heard it before, but I truly believe you will posthumously be know as the reincarnation of Edgar Allen Poe. In my mind there is no doubt about it. Have you ever published a book of your poems? You should, you know, if you haven't

~*~ If they give you lined paper, write sideways. ~*~

Marchmadness
Member Rara Avis

since 2007-09-16

Posts 9271
So. El Monte, California

2 posted 2013-07-27 03:12 PM

I always feel a touch of "Poe" in your poetry as well, Michael.
Ida

Gale
Senior Member

since 2013-06-10

Posts 578
Russia

3 posted 2013-07-27 05:01 PM

"Where all that lingers now is doubt
Of what one cannot live without.
For without you I have not died,
Yet have not moved, nor have relied

On vision that my eyes attain..."

Great lines, Michael!
And your poem in whole is thoughtful.
Thank you for sharing!

Lori Grosser Rhoden
Member Patricius

since 2009-10-10

Posts 10202
Fair to middlin' of nowhere

4 posted 2013-07-28 09:43 AM

You have a wonderful way with woe!

Lori

Lady Goodman
Member

since 2012-10-04

Posts 193

5 posted 2013-07-28 03:25 PM

I was nodding in agreement of what appeared to be an apt presentation of "limbo-land", a place which gives me afw severe case of the "shudders" btw.

To be neither here nor there is truly a haunting of one's self.

OH. I did want to ask you about this quatrain;]]

"On vision that my eyes attain...
For too much duress clothes, in vain,
The naked truth, yet fails to save
Even one mem'ry from the grave'

I stumbled a bit on the passage and I confess I'm rather clueless in regards to what you're'going for there.But because it does stand out in my mind's eye, so I thought I'd just ask you. (If you prefer to not say, that'okay roo

Loved the style, always have.

Michael

Moderator

Member Rara Avis

since 1999-08-13

Posts 7666
California

6 posted 2013-07-28 07:07 PM

Thank you all for the kind replies.

No, JP... as much as I would like to have a book published... too much dark leaves me thinking it wouldn't go over very well. There's only so much of me most people can take.

Karen, the quatrain you referenced is not meant to stand alone...  it is part of a sentence that starts in the previous quatrain and ends in the following, thus would read:

"For without you I have not died, yet have not moved, nor have relied on vision that my eyes attain...  for too much duress clothes, in vain, the naked truth, yet fails to save even one memr'y from the grave I now sit by, all lessons learned— ev'ry last inch of hope well spurned."

Lol... does that make me king of the run-on sentence or what?

The "too much duress" is the punishment I exact on myself on a daily basis, (please don't expect a reason for it here).

... The "naked truth" is the beauty in life I know is there, though have never actually been able to share with anyone, which tends to leave me completely estranged to those I long to be closest to... "fails to save even one memory from the grave" means EXACTLY what it says. My mental condition is such that I am losing memories and finding gaps where I am looking for things I know should be of vital significance to me... "the grave I now sit by, all lessons learned— ev'ry last inch of hope well spurned." This is hard to state clearly without sounding so completely selfish I become a product of my own disdain, but I guess what it comes down to is the fact I have much more in common with the dead than I ever have had with the living. In essence, I have no more hope of ever fitting in with the world (of the living anyway).

Hope I cleared it up for you. Too much info? Yup, that's why I usually just let the reader work it out to a matter that suits them. In the end, poetry is a sharing of emotion and knowing the facts behind the work can somewhat diminish the read. Hope it didn't this time with you.

Michael

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