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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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A home without a wall, |
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| Poetic Haven |
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A Window |
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Local Parasite
since 2001-11-05
Posts 2527Transylconia, Winnipeg 
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Our youth is left within the caudal History of hopeful prayers By revelation - that which tears Such strength from us. It somehow glares Into my spirit when I see The truth encounter'd back at me; A child of summers two or three Whose vital eyes can vainly waddle 'Cross a lane of sky. From he, no facts or truths could pry Imagination's capless bottle Waking snaps of fingers try In vain, but nothing do they sow From minds in dazing, ever gazing t'ward a hazing gust of snow. For arrogance is all we know From science, all that we compose Yet even infant waltzing knows The opiates of grim deception; Winter, what a stark reception Tolls the dreaming, reaching eyes Of infancy, that they surmise Across this glassy pane could be A paradise. But o how we, Who on the sorrow'd prophecy Debase ourselves, could never see What ignorance and whimsy sings The hopefulness of hidden things, The fantasy of mighty claims Whose virtue, noble science, shames With simple happiness. Perhaps He, with his dreams of climbing, traps The raking claws of winter trees Whose tendrils, snapping as they freeze, Allure him; or the sullied sound Of flurry, that same winter hound Who upward, downward, casts his praise To moonlight, could his arrow raise And send him out to hunt; Or may The waves of deading snow who sway Across the streets be what he whims As that warm cheek of living brims With fake and sens'ry heroism? Or is it that mysterious prism Jutting from the crag of street That boasts reality, that meets His sense to say, "The truth for thee Doth not equate the minstrelsy Of chariots, who o'er thy bed Are ever circling." Aye, instead He soon shall see that weary band Of workers with a callous'd hand Not similar to that he raises Ignorant, to throw their praises; Shaking, in a glimpse of joy That's soon forsaken. Know, sweet boy, That this is what the world shall be For ev'ry being more than thee Who climbs into this realm of life. And know, that spectral winter knife That slices through thy glassy shield Does not destroy the hungry yield With which thou dreamest. Think instead The snow clouds, and the streets they tread On present times of carelessness That thou canst, 'gainst that window, press Thy cheek in wonder. [This message has been edited by Local Parasite (03-06-2003 06:12 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2003 Brian James Lee - All Rights Reserved | |||
Marshalzu 
since 2001-02-15
Posts 2681Lurking |
This is absolutely masterful, the flow is perfect and it was such a pleasure to read, the imagery was vivid and clear yet left enough to be interpretted, this is one of my favorites by you and a peice that I can treasure alongside any of the greats. |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
Perhaps He, with his dreams of climbing, traps The raking claws of winter trees Whose tendrils, snapping as they freeze, Allure him; or the sullied sound Of flurry, that same winter hound Who upward, downward, casts his praise To moonlight, could his arrow raise And send him out to hunt; Or may The waves of deading snow who sway Across the streets be what he whims As that warm cheek of living brims With fake and sens'ry heroism? Or is it that mysterious prism Jutting from the crag of street That boasts reality, that meets His sense to say, "The truth for thee Doth not equate the minstrelsy Of chariots, who o'er thy bed Are ever circling." Aye, instead He soon shall see that weary band Of workers with a callous'd hand Not similar to that he raises Ignorant, to throw their praises; Shaking, in a glimpse of joy That's soon forsaken. Know, sweet boy, That this is what the world shall be For ev'ry being more than thee Who climbs into this realm of life. And know, that spectral winter knife That slices through thy glassy shield Does not destroy the hungry yield With which thou dreamest. Think instead The snow clouds, and the streets they tread On present times of carelessness That thou canst, 'gainst that window, press Thy cheek in wonder. =================================== Holy moly...I dont know what you see out your window..but I gotta get me some of that view!!!!!  Sheesh Bri...talk about imagery overload...those above verses are poetic panaramics!! Vivid and sharp scenery created with your edge of surrealism combined wuth your love of winter's white wonder...Awesome imagery and equally awesome employ of vocabulary...very impressive indeed...as is the rhyme scheme...the assonance and alliterations and last but never least your gift for symbolism. This will be one that I will have to inhale many times to truly learn from all its poetic splendors. I am but the moth grasshopper...you are my Sensi parasite poet   peace & poetry [This message has been edited by Janet Marie (03-06-2003 10:23 PM).] |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
LP...I have to agree with Janet Marie..your poetry is amazing! |
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Child of the Stars
since 2000-09-07
Posts 1658Ann Arbor, MI |
You know I've missed drooling when reading your stuff. Spittle has had a welcome return... Maybe I'll be back to actually pick this apart and erhm..interpret! Hello again, Brian.~Carly empty arms |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
OOOOOHHHHH!!!! This one sent chills up my spine and through my mind. Your personification of the natural elements is masterful! The house as an implicit symbol for the body and the person looking out the window as one for the mind is beautifully developed. Yet even infant waltzing knows The opiates of grim deception; Winter, what a stark reception Tolls the dreaming, reaching eyes Of infancy, that they surmise Across this glassy pane could be A paradise. This is wonderfully written, and the preceeding lines concerning our arrogance is a stunning attack against our so-called rationalistic ideal of human life. One small thing: He soon shall see that weary band Of workers with a callous'd hand Could you have accomplished this by rhyming bands with hands? "He sooon shall see the weary bands / of workers with their callous'd hands"? All in all this piece is a POWERFUL and devastating attack on youthful idealism! I will certainly add this to my library as the best I've seen from you yet. "If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh" |
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Child of the Stars
since 2000-09-07
Posts 1658Ann Arbor, MI |
Ahh..I noticed that too, Frac..only I thought it was sposed to note that the workers have no identities, no 'personal' hands. They're just a part of a collective body? It's late...sleepy time for me. (uh, as if all of you wanted to know that, hehe)  ~Carly empty arms and half a soul to go -el sol --Zwan [This message has been edited by Child of the Stars (03-07-2003 10:54 PM).] |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
Carly: I had not thought of that. That's a good idea. This poem is certainly giving critics and interpreters a run for their money! "If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh" |
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Local Parasite
since 2001-11-05
Posts 2527Transylconia, Winnipeg |
Zu - Thanks for the read and the compliments. Me alongside the greats? It just might happen, you never know. JM - Glad you enjoyed this. Winter's not such a bad thing when it's seen from the other side of a window, hm? I like the idea of looking without touching or disturbing, that's why I wrote this. I know you've used the same theme before, but this is based on an actual experience I had, so I'm not ripping you off or anything. Martie - Nahh... I've got a long way to come yet, but I am pleased with how this particular poem turned out and can't see anything I'd wish to improve on it. Thanks for the compliment. Carly - Get some tissue, that's just gross!!  Frac - You think so? Well I'm surprised if this is my best one yet, but nonetheless reassured that I do in fact have some talent beyond time-consuming revision and modification. I wrote this in its entirity while laying on a couch in my University atrium and staring out the window. It's based on an experience I had on the bus on the way there, watching a child in the seat in front of me, staring out the bus window at everything passing by and pointing out to his mother all the trees he is going to climb and all the adventures he is going to have. I took notes on it, I hope nobody was creeped out by me examining this child's activity and recording it. And as for the "workers with a callous'd hand" line, the hand doesn't belong to the workers, it belongs to the boy. He soon shall see them with a callous'd hand, as in, with his callous'd hand he soon shall see them. Maybe I worded that a bit unusually but I think it's clear enough and I won't touch it. You guys make me grin.  Parasite "Faith" means the will to avoid knowing what is true. |
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BrokenAngel Member
since 2002-01-06
Posts 141Puryear, TN, USA |
O my dear Lord...I have no idea as to what to say to this. You really should submit some for the book, your poetry is so wonderful. I really wish I could write with just a fraction of the mastery you poses(I can't spell) I really think you will go far in the world of poetry. Wonderful write!!! Even though "wonderful" does not do it justice, I can't find any other word to use. Read my work and read my thoughts |
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LoveBug
Moderator
Member Elite
since 2000-01-08
Posts 4697 |
This is a good one, Brian. The imagery is amazing, even for you, and the meter is perfect from what I can tell. I especially enjoyed the last stanza. Dreams vs. reality.. always a good subject. You have much to be envied.  Oh, make me Thine forever |
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