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Passions in Poetry

the news was broken

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bsquirrel
Deputy Moderator 5 Tours
Member Rara Avis
since 01-03-2000
Posts 8382


0 posted 01-10-2000 11:23 PM       View Profile for bsquirrel   Email bsquirrel   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to Submit your Poem to Passions  View IP for bsquirrel

Talk about a fit of inspiration! I remember reading somewhere that poets are the magpies of words -- they jump around, pick phrases they hear in conversation out of the sand, and use it for themselves. For me, many a poem is born of having a cool title, and just letting the words go where they want to. Here's one of those:

-the news was broken-
Shhhh, the sirens are too rough sounding
On such a bucolic night of broken glass.
See the housewife stepping outside, feet cut,
In slippers staining fuzzy red;
See the husband inside throwing silhouette things --
No longer silhouettes but sailing fragments
Crashing to the lawn.

A chair. A vase. A picture frame.

She, hair undone, eyes unmade, face unknown,
Runs to the modern day savior
Of black and white metal, revolving lights,
Shouts her pleas and moves her ring up and down,
Up and down.

It doesn't come off,
And inside possessions pile on the lawn.

Two rough and gruff men uniformly
Walk past the splinters of wood and glass.
A goldfish is swimming on its side in a puddle.
Under the lights, it almost looks tragic.

He, eyes streaming, hair fallen, mouth screaming,
Continues latching his hands on things
And letting them violently outside. One is
Just a pillow. The next is just a piano bench,
Flurry of sheet music swarming out the open mouth.
The following is simply a piece of china,
Then an ebony bust of some Greek goddess,
Landing on her nose, rolling on her side,
Into the pile of previous projectiles.

As the man pulls a knife from the kitchen drawer,
Shining between him and the other men,
No sound, no breath (only cloth, leather, gun oil).

Then

His breath pours out with automatic tears.
He falls to his knees, one largely gone.
Knife lost grip, sliding across away
As he slides down

And thinks only of the news his wife broke to him
Only twenty-three days from their last anniversary.
© Copyright 2000 MPC - All Rights Reserved
Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 08-22-99
Posts 23002


1 posted 01-11-2000 12:08 AM       View Profile for Denise   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Denise

This is a very well written, powerful piece of writing. Very intense. Well done!

 Denise

PhaerieChild
Senior Member
since 08-30-99
Posts 1829
Aloha, Oregon


2 posted 01-11-2000 02:14 AM       View Profile for PhaerieChild   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for PhaerieChild

Wow!!! I'm sorry for the tragic break up of what once must have contained love. It's sad that things like this happen. I hope you can go on and find a happiness in your spirit. Very powerful and very sad.

 Poetry~ Words falling on paper, painting a dream.

Shawna R. Holder
Boise, Idaho

hoot_owl_rn
Member Patricius
since 07-05-99
Posts 11105
Glen Hope, PA USA


3 posted 01-11-2000 08:38 AM       View Profile for hoot_owl_rn   Email hoot_owl_rn   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit hoot_owl_rn's Home Page   View IP for hoot_owl_rn

A very powerful piece. The imagery you used is terrific....I could see it all as you wove the tale  
bsquirrel
Deputy Moderator 5 Tours
Member Rara Avis
since 01-03-2000
Posts 8382


4 posted 01-12-2000 12:19 AM       View Profile for bsquirrel   Email bsquirrel   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for bsquirrel

Thanks for the praise, all. I've found that art is the best way to deal with pretty much everything in life.   The best thing I've found about writing something out is you never feel that intensely about it again -- or if you do, it's a totally different angle. It's a slow path to healing, but one that works well for me. And I have hope for the future -- I always have. I got myself out of a serious depressive slide by moving from New Hampshire to California, and out here, I've already found a job, new friends, I'm far from my dysfunctional (yet loving) family, and I can work out who I am. And the future just keeps looking brighter: starting in february, I'm going to use the advantage of my location to start reading my poetry in clubs and such. It's what I do best, and something I might be able to make a living at someday. But until then, I can dream, and I can slowly, slowly, make things happen. All this, and only 23 years old!  

Mike
 
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