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swallowed in the arms

Submitted by Esker on Wed, 2015-09-23 05:40

knee deep of night
the cold white brilliant fire
the pools from the poles
watches flakes drip spiral

the bottle warmth in the
hollow of the soul
climbing its chorus

the wind is picking up
hissing on the tall screens
rattling the last of the leaves
as I watch the evening planes
arrive over the lake...landing
lights mesmerizing like stars
beneath the weather

the fridge is empty
a flat of old muffins
in the flourescent
the television chatter

the three no four day run
prescription refills
I try to forget you
but when Im far in lah lah
land I can feel you hand
on my shoulder
remember the blanket
thrown on me
how you had to ask
finally for me then to
care for you

severity of our lines drawn

like hyphens
like all the happy hearts
and faces
like our removal of all the
traces
of happy hearts

lets keep the parts

I was everything and nothing
in my time
and still am
not pride
nor ego

just is
and the sadness
that runs with
that

what one sees
exposed too

if you nestled brief
the words across
the distance from
our trenches
we would hear
throwing gifts
and salutations

you always wanted me
to tell you where you
go in my head
and heart
what spacial place
on that shelf
to shine when all
is dark

,,,

Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

scribbler

Wed, 2015-09-23 12:07

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This is exceptional I think. Only one thing seems a bit off. To me it seems like in the last line of first stanza "drip" is not needed and maybe even disconcerting. I now assume the role a student advising a professor and suggest, just for the sake of making this poem less intimidating, that combining some of the lines and thus visually shortening this poem, might lead to more folks reading and enjoying this wonderful write...........stan

Esker

Wed, 2015-09-23 21:19

Esker's picture

I liked it because if was different...and some days it does drip...straight down....
disconcerting...great line....the poetry is that.....I am not settled at all...never
have and probably never will be...its in there..like you find!

the whole things reads like an ingredient list...cereal....munch munch..thats me
disclaimers and flyers from the mail when Im very stable which is not often at all..
thus I "stack" the whole poem....I dont like widths..from writing in note ringed
pocket binders....personally it really irks me so I dont...thats the only reason
I dont push it all sideways like peanut butter on toast...I like that best on crackers
...which is very fattening......Folks will read what they like....as far as finding me
I know I could put tons of polish in this...but Im not into being found at all...I love
sitting in a packed mall by myself....on the trails hopefully not bumping into others..
although I like people...

I do take your advice serious though and Know what you mean....I like that you
found drip and pretty much said....what the hell is this?? thats what its there for!!
we are all students even I.......I am not the acedamia at all...macedamia nut maybe!!!

thank U Mr Stan!

author comment

Seren

Wed, 2015-09-23 12:29

Seren's picture

I poem worth reading a thousand times over and I just reread it quite a few times, what beautiful desolate worlds you create and how comfortable i feel coming home to read this ... its a part of a poets soul speaking when the words thrill veins thought dead

As always my friend a pleasure and honour to read your work

Unlike Stan I like the short lines drawing the readers mind this way and that sometimes you make them work out the mystery, and sometimes the message jumps from the page

I don't always have the energy to leave comments but sometimes even that can't shut me up as I'm sure some would wish lol (wink)

Love Jayne

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

Esker

Wed, 2015-09-23 21:30

Esker's picture

I am chalk in the rain...
sleep submerged with pain
a voice that lulls away

Karen said eyes like the serpent
from jungle king..

another muse of mine
an honorary degree in a tech feild
speaks several languages
world traveller
and athlete

thought dead
isnt it a rush when something exciting
drops in and takes us down the halls
through doors
into resturants and living rooms
where we would never ever be
again for that matter
but the moment only

a taste touch sensation
meant only for us
though they share
the rest
and we are not greedy

desolating is beautiful
scream and shout
and let it all out...
(song from brittaney)
throw rocks till one is tired
and kick sticks
fall and cry
stare up blank at the sky

done it all
frustration beyond and
the anger...rage of all
that I cant even begin to
want to go near
ever....

dulling its edge that cuts
away at me
and it just becomes
sharper the more I neglect
and then the young ones
find me out
how they know
share the moment
day hour passage
glimpse
storm

a thousand ideas rolling always
in my head
and a thousand stories
the thousand yard stare
and they all want to be the one
(which they are)

synapse....nerve response
touch the mind and find the body
hidden in years
forgotten
neglected
shut away
slammed in
waiting for that touch
word...tingle
breath
whisper

..

I am glad in these works
the magic is alive
for we are all this
there are just the
quiet moments
that make us seek
and sometimes we
think we shall never
find that peak
that draws us up
from the valley
..

thank U

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