Open Poetry #36 |
One Of The Simple Joys In Life |
icebox Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 4383in the shadows |
Sometimes even now I feel you reach for me, you know, in the night the way you used to come to me in dreams, as if still you have the right; wander on blithe spirit wander on, now that I am used to life again I am happy that you’re gone. I recall the memory of your face, the worn facade too many years left to weather in storms of neglect, a mottled plain of flesh indulged beyond belief, lined in silver gray and black, broken by liner painted blocks cracked and webbed, no hint of light staring back from empty eyes, the vacant dull abyss intent on sucking in all life and energy giving nothing up from the windows of your dissipated soul. When I burned your books I felt a surge of joy I’ve seldom known with any other light, or mix of chemistry, blood enhanced epiphany or simple revelation; I know I know it is supposed to be a crime for a learned man; I know I could have given them away to children’s libraries, or to the illiterate and poor to burn for heat, or foisted them upon the wandering literati who have lost their grip on how to be pretentious, or shipped them off on cruise ships to be sacrificed in signal fires gathering the rich to silver trays of fresh chilled umbrella drinks, the starving pampered spoiled souls littering the naked sands along the new Gold Coast of dear Old Mexico. So like you, those books, there was little they could say, those dusty bindings stuffed with empty thoughts, sybaritic sultry visions symbiotic masturbation for the mind, and so I watched them burn, tried to toss them in the flames so they landed leaves akimbo like memories of you collapsed, legs splayed upon the pillows, only the books were dripping fire melted from ideas already dead not from desire’s wasted dregs. ©2005 by icebox |
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© Copyright 2005 icebox - All Rights Reserved | |||
serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
"literati who have lost their grip on how to be pretentious," I would have been very happy to have them. But not for me to decide the partings of vikings... |
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littlewing Member Rara Avis
since 2003-03-02
Posts 9655New York |
icey . . . Damn, sir . . . not only is THIS written so amazingly perfect but the only thing that comes to mind is Dylan's "Idiot Wind" . . . That spittle flying from his mouth in a sneer even though his heart is wrenched, he rips the words through the air, as you just spat them on this very screen. "I can't even touch the books you read." That line always haunted me. I am sorry you have to write this, but glad that you CAN. |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
icebox...I'm happy to see that you've found your missing muse. Good tough poem...from feelings deep. Hugging you because of the feelings released and those you held for so long. |
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Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
talk about a catharsis man, you invented a new way to expunge love this: "sybaritic sultry visions symbiotic masturbation for the mind" |
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Aenimal Member Rara Avis
since 2002-11-18
Posts 7350the ass-end of space |
only the books were dripping fire melted from ideas already dead not from desire’s wasted dregs absolute.killer.lines |
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OwlSA Member Rara Avis
since 2005-11-07
Posts 9347Durban, South Africa |
My tears are for both of you, the waste of life, the waste of books, the misery and the heart-ache. Stunning poem. Sorry you (and she) had to go through all you did, described and not. Blessings - Owl |
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iliana Member Patricius
since 2003-12-05
Posts 13434USA |
"symbiotic masturbation for the mind" grabbed me...quite effective. Nothing left to say...there is only the "haunting." What an outpouring, Mr. C. Wish I could burn a few books myself but that would not rid me of any ghost, I'm afraid. .....jo |
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littlewing Member Rara Avis
since 2003-03-02
Posts 9655New York |
bumping this . . . [This message has been edited by littlewing (12-19-2005 10:08 AM).] |
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