In The Hallway of the Primary School

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Local Parasite

Member Elite

since 2001-11-05

Posts 2527
Transylconia, Winnipeg

0 posted 2005-06-14 07:20 PM

Half-written and uncertain imitations
Are tacked chaotically together there,
Thousands of small, inimitable figments
Of some wide-open mouth's terrified saying.
They left them here, and in the schoolyard playing
Forget their feeble, unassuming segments
Of this thing, on the wall beside the stairs,
The open forum of their innovation.

The cold grass is a symmetry of sneakers,
Wood panels frame a measure of white pebbles,
Some stand on legs, with platforms, walls, and towers,
Beams drawn out in a rush of shaky lines.
These bars, the chaff of re-assembling minds;
These bridges, jealous of the secret powers
That crush them, lie beneath swift feet and tremble
Subordinate below the treasure-seeker.

The sheets of paper in the hall are strange:
A tiny tack supports them on the wall
(They're blue or green, of little circumstance),
And every paper with like measurements.
These crayon lines are like in their intent,
Though what they find dies at a sideways glance:
Floor tiles of one sort flooring out the hall,
Flanked by gray bricks in careful stacks arranged.

It's empty and too silent of a place
Without their native lore to guide my sense.
What should I see? I'll try to understand:
This glowing circle is a burning sun,
Unmodelled and originally done;
Another here's the outline of a hand
In a red pencil; and just three feet hence,
I see the outline of a human face.

Martie

Moderator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-09-21

Posts 28049
California

1 posted 2005-06-14 07:29 PM

Brian...you captured such a feeling here. I could see a young child, an artist, with tongue caught in concentration. And so I went back to my elementary school...a place that was full of growing pain tears and the giddy jubilation of new friendship, because of you. Thank you!

Sunshine

Administrator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-25

Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

2 posted 2005-06-15 12:10 PM

What Martie said, but more.

I felt a sense of sadness permeating between the crayola lines, the sense of innocence still within the young, but somehow, this:

quote:
These crayon lines are like in their intent,
Though what they find dies at a sideways glance:
Floor tiles of one sort flooring out the hall,
Flanked by gray bricks in careful stacks arranged.

seemed to come across to me [as probably was your intent]as institutional...and brought back the phrase, "ticky-tacky houses, all look the same..."

Yes, a deep sense of "what's it all about" comes to mind.

Musicmaker1969

Senior Member

since 2000-06-25

Posts 589
Peterborough, Ontario Canada

3 posted 2006-05-14 02:04 AM

Your poem took me back to my primary school days where I could see the halls and remember what it was like outside. And like your poem, when I remember these things, I feel sadness, not joy. This was a beautiful poem, yet sad in some strange way. Like a longing to go back and change things for the better. A very moving poem, at least for me.

Sheri Adams

Jesus lives in my heart! He can in yours too!!!
Sheri Liegh Adams
sheriliegh@sympatico.ca

Ratleader

Member Rara Avis

since 2003-01-23

Posts 7026
Visiting Earth on a Guest Pass

4 posted 2006-10-05 01:13 AM

Yes...you can see them there, in those very things...and I can see them here.

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