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Open Poetry #5
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The Glass-eyed City
| Open Poetry #5 |
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The Glass-eyed City |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California 
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The Glass-eyed City Home had been this cardboard box and sundry boards placed just so, broken on the ground now, with his books and magazines scattered and torn. Might as well have picked him up and shredded him into pieces and thrown him into the breeze that crossed the sidewalk. His flashlight lay in pieces, its spring exposed like a broken spinal cord on the black asphalt of the parking lot. Now his belongings fit in the cardboard box and he had no home because this act of breaking had taken the small hope that had found dignity in some boards. I have nothing he thought until Tom, with the golden Buick stopped, and said, in matter of fact words, that flashlight’s broken, not knowing the importance of a flashlight in the darkness of some lives. The gangly, skinny kid with eyes like sky on a cloudless day trusted the other who no one trusted. Trust built from talk of car engines. You want to go for a ride, he asked, and something happened then something invisible and sweet. This man of no hope, let a piece of his heart out, let it float there in the air between them then clasp onto this kid of infinite possibility. The box with all his belongings got smaller as they drove into the glass-eyed city. He turned and saw it small and inconsequential on the sidewalk. |
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| © Copyright 2000 Martie Odell Ingebretsen - All Rights Reserved | |||
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RainbowGirl Member Elite
since 1999-07-31
Posts 3023United Kingdom |
Wow! Martie....You're as deep as I am tonight but I loved every single word...Do I ever...  HUGS The grape passes through the press to yield wine. Your life must pass through the press of passion and pain to yield the wine of wisdom.. |
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lucky Senior Member
since 2000-01-17
Posts 1601Idaho |
I used to live in that cardboard condo but the rain up north just made it to soggy, I got myself a real estate agent in a hurry and got out Justin a nick of thyme. The fact that we are all individuals does not make us different kinds of Christians, but the fact that we are Christian does make us a different kind of people. May your neighbors respect you, troubles neglect you, the angels protect you, and heaven accept you. I think I stole that from one of ya alls Passion, it could be just some kinda’ parkin’ disease but I’ve never been sighted on it. I no longer understand the “where” and “why” of His leading, nor do I want to and too many times as we should appraising be seem but only to find a hard and cruel destiny... notwithstanding, still I do hear that gentle whisper ever pleading, God is working, God is faithful, God is hearing - simply wait..! |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
Wouldn't this be a nicer world if more people had hearts like Tom! This is a very moving piece, Martie! Your beutiful always have a beautiful message as well! Denise |
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hoot_owl_rn Member Patricius
since 1999-07-05
Posts 10750Glen Hope, PA USA |
Your words never cease to move me |
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Elizabeth Santos Member Rara Avis
since 1999-11-08
Posts 9269Pennsylvania |
Your heart is as wondrous as your verse And your verse is magnificent Liz |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
RG--Thanks for the wow. If I'm as deep as you then that's pretty deep. lucky--thanks for reading and for your interesting reply Denise--It would be nice if there were more like Tom. Thank you Ruth--Thank you so much. I'm glad to know my words move you. Liz--What sweet words from such a wonderous poet. Thank you. |
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Meadowmuse Member Elite
since 1999-12-27
Posts 3263 |
Martie, this is exceptional, and so well expresses the importance of recognizing that it is the seemingly minute act in one's life that can make all the difference in one's spirit. I enjoyed this, very much. Claire |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Claire-- Thank you for putting such effort and interest into the comments that you make. It's much appreciated. In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings) |
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