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Open Poetry #47
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Alcatraz
| Open Poetry #47 |
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Alcatraz |
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Nicole Senior Member
since 1999-06-23
Posts 1835Florida 
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there are eyes that saw him, high drunk on life and wailing like a rock star. eyes that he could see, and made the ocean in him rejoice; one fell crashing at a time. but who knew there would be such sorrow when his voice ran dry and cold as January a flower petal plucked; gently, cruelly from the stem in want for the love of another. there is a prison in him, an Alcatraz and he no longer clangs his tin cup across the bars; it is nothing but white noise outside the cold, frost-bitten window. such an aching sorrow; even still, there is a pulse, a tapping on the tympanic, a pulling in the sounds of waves upon the island; ticklish things... and sometimes he raises a hand to the sound sometimes it breaks through the cacophony inside somewhere, there is dawn and light cresting over the threshold and a shadow of motes in languid, lazy descent. a circle of something, there in the carpet a memory buried in the pile. who knew there would be such sorrow, in a mortgaged heart a thousand miles from nowhere i would give him every little hope, inside a heart-shaped box. the sound of his grandfather the pssst-scree of a school bus coming home the taste of a kiwi, on the best day the wind, passing through a keyhole he is more than a prisoner with soft hands, with a warm, rough voice; more than a fixer of meals more than a star-gazer he is loved |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
I just wrote a poem this afternoon called, "Love Is . . ." and it isn't anything like what is normally written about love. Love is responsible for more murders, suicides, depressive, vegetative states, and other maladies than almost anything else. Now after saying that I find myself in love. At this late date in my years. Who'd a thunk it? Love is . . . One thing it is persistent. This was a well-written poem and tragic all the way through. ~*~ If they give you lined paper, write sideways. ~*~ |
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Dark Stranger Member Patricius
since 2001-03-19
Posts 13631West Coast |
Ms Nicole, enjoyed the layers of glancing here..kewl stuff |
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Nicole Senior Member
since 1999-06-23
Posts 1835Florida |
/grinning... Love is messy. Yes. That and it can take so many forms, also (familial, friendship) In all regards though, it is definitely persistent, as you say. I'm happy you've found love Jerry, that's the smile I needed. And thank you for the read and the understanding. |
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Nicole Senior Member
since 1999-06-23
Posts 1835Florida |
D - it's somethin', I reckon.  Thanks for the peek |
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Margherita Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236Eternity |
but who knew there would be such sorrow when his voice ran dry and cold as January a flower petal plucked; gently, cruelly from the stem in want for the love of another. What a profoundly captivating and poetically masterful description of what goes on in a sensitive heart sometimes! Great poem with psychological depth. Saw the b/w and mute movie "The Artist" yesterday and was moved deeply by its content. Your words above reminded me of the drama that artist went through ... Margherita |
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bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
quote: fantastic metaphor here...I think...I know him. Great poem! |
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Nicole Senior Member
since 1999-06-23
Posts 1835Florida |
Margherita, That is so amazing that you saw that particular film in this; it is that feeling I was trying to convey. Thank you for such a thoughtful reply. Belle, You do indeed |
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JL Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128Texas, USA |
“there is a prison in him, an Alcatraz and he no longer clangs his tin cup across the bars; it is nothing but white noise outside the cold, frost-bitten window. such an aching sorrow; even still, there is a pulse, a tapping on the tympanic, a pulling in the sounds of waves upon the island; ticklish things... and sometimes he raises a hand to the sound sometimes it breaks through the cacophony inside” “he is loved” “i would give him every little hope, inside a heart-shaped box. the sound of his grandfather the pssst-scree of a school bus coming home the taste of a kiwi, on the best day the wind, passing through a keyhole” This living conflict has a satisfying twist with your last line. A conclusion unspecified by the body of the story but hinted at, throughout. Happily unhappy being imprisoned by circumstances beyond control yet living through the resistance. Yep, I live somewhere out in left field … I really enjoying reading your poetry – Makes my thoughts get a little flighty, But I do enjoy...  JL Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul,and with all your mind. Love your neighbor as yourself. |
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Spiros Zafiris Senior Member
since 2002-10-20
Posts 982Canada |
..bravo..! |
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California |
quote: I can relate to that only too well. The truest of all loves is that which knows it will never be rewarded, or maybe even recognized. I can only say I understand this on the level that that is the kind of love I have for my mother. This poems reaches deep and wrenches the heart on many levels. Never give up hope... the white noise doesn't have to be all engulfing. Michael |
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suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
but who knew there would be such sorrow when his voice ran dry and cold as January There are prisons inside of all of us... some so dark even we can't hear the clang of our own cup hitting the bars. The key is in that last line... to be loved, to be accepted, to have someone keep shining a light steadily into the corners even when their fingers are blistered from melting wax. This is a wonderful write!! |
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