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A home without a wall, |
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| How to Join | Member's Area | Private Library | Search | Sanctuary | Login | |
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| Main Forums | Discussion | Tech Talk | Mature Content | Archives |
A home without a wall, |
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| Open Poetry #13 |
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Footed Pajamas |
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Effigy Member
since 2000-04-11
Posts 486disbelief 
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Dreams are often like children in footed pajamas sleeping under plastic stars stuck in time and place on the ceiling above their little heads. Their only purpose is to make you long for something else, some other place. Somewhere else outside of aluminum recycling centers, and the ever present concrete jungle with its beast of bourbon…the buses, the cops, people everywhere, the cars, the panhandlers. There are people everywhere stuck in time and place to that ever present concrete jungle, like the little plastic stars stuck in time and place to the ceiling over the head of sleeping children in their footed pajamas. [This message has been edited by Effigy (edited 04-10-2001).] |
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| © Copyright 2001 wes wiggins - All Rights Reserved | |||
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RMW Senior Member
since 2001-03-21
Posts 1424 |
Interesting....and welcomes re-reading. Hope other folks stop by to comment. Thanks for sharing. Again....interesting. Bob |
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Panne447 Member
since 2001-04-03
Posts 196S.A. TX |
Effigy, I try not to commetn on anyone that says No to Encourage Critiques: but I forget and forgot to check first so please, if you don't want my input. I do apologize. I like this a lot. I was wondering tho, if you meant beast of bourbon or burden - I. frankly, like the bourbon but was wondering what you intended. This is very insightful and I like the comparison between the longing of pj'd children under plastic stars with the rest of humanity. Very nicely written. Thanks for sharing this. Glad I came in. Panne |
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Effigy Member
since 2000-04-11
Posts 486disbelief |
I meant bourbon, as in the drink. Oh yea, and by the way I totally am glad to hear any comments or critiques. Hearing your repleys is half the fun of posting. |
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Sven
since 1999-11-23
Posts 14937East Lansing, MI USA |
I like this one. . . dreams always make us this way. . . and I for one, have always liked pajamas with feet. . . ------------------------------------------------------- To the world, you may only be one person. But to one person, you may be the world. |
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JLR Senior Member
since 2001-02-04
Posts 1785 |
Like the contrast between the security of those footed pajamas and the reality of the the streets. Been in both. I'll take the pj's, anyday. Thanks. Speak when you are angry--and you'll make the best speech you'll ever regret...Laurence J. Peter |
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Marge Tindal
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Effigy~ I really liked this. Great imagery and I enjoyed your 'beast of bourbon' reference. Nicely done. ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ |
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Effigy Member
since 2000-04-11
Posts 486disbelief |
thanks |
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Watersign6 Senior Member
since 2001-05-25
Posts 823Hurricane,WV |
WOW! this is just unbelievable and very creative i enjoyed it very much  |
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passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
brings back some memories |
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forne_marin Member
since 2004-04-13
Posts 140Spartanburg, South Carolina |
I am reminded of something someone wrote in one of my high school yearbooks, "Life is nothing but a lovesick turtle playing golf in his underwear." This is another one that's going on my favorite's list. The only negative thing I have to say is that I didn't get this line: "There are people everywhere stuck / in time and place to that / ever present concrete jungle..." Why didn't you use "in that / ever present" instead of "to that / ever present"? You lost me on that. Other than that little nitpicky thing, though, I really really enjoyed this one. I have just about reached the point where I'm only commenting on the ones I like, but I guess that's okay. Some of your more recent ones show some incredible growth an maturity as a poet, but a just lackluster. This one, I like though. I believe the most important component of a poem is rhythm. Rhythm is the heartbeat of a poem. It is what makes poetry poetry. |
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