Watching the weather in the company of stars
EvilToasterElf
Posts: 1,119
I ride to the edge of the last ocean,
but it does not satisfy me. The wind
nudges me backward, into the darkness
of Haley Cove where my Huffy lies
beside my skyward stare. I quickly
succumb to the weathering of reality,
and rise through the gravity of dreams,
with watery eyes. I breathe easily
in the thin air. I reach my destination
and knock on a black door of space,
and ask the gods to grab their bikes.
Instead I enter, it is too late for them
to come outside. In the foyer of the
firmaments they crowd around me.
The architecture of their bodies
like sunlight, illuminating the dust
through the slats in the window blinds.
I connect the dots to the kitchen.
The buffet before me shifts, like clouds.
The table of starstuff holds a dinner
of entropy, but the gods demand
wine. I hold a corkscrew, writhing
to open a fine merlot. I spill it
and red life runs across whitenoise
tablecloths, staining the stars. I watch
the faded magenta spiral into the arm
of a young son. His hands become
a crater, that slowly fills. I spin
in a coriolis chair, as my legs hang
derelict above the Earth. Under me
a dove dies, it’s feathers drift down,
and a great bird of fire rises. Its wings
spread, the fire consumes me, and
my vision goes black. When I awaken
I am standing under the hot pellets
of my shower.
Outside the window, the flakes appear.
The world is quiet when snow falls,
and the brown earth trembles,
like winter children, waiting
for the weather forecast
but it does not satisfy me. The wind
nudges me backward, into the darkness
of Haley Cove where my Huffy lies
beside my skyward stare. I quickly
succumb to the weathering of reality,
and rise through the gravity of dreams,
with watery eyes. I breathe easily
in the thin air. I reach my destination
and knock on a black door of space,
and ask the gods to grab their bikes.
Instead I enter, it is too late for them
to come outside. In the foyer of the
firmaments they crowd around me.
The architecture of their bodies
like sunlight, illuminating the dust
through the slats in the window blinds.
I connect the dots to the kitchen.
The buffet before me shifts, like clouds.
The table of starstuff holds a dinner
of entropy, but the gods demand
wine. I hold a corkscrew, writhing
to open a fine merlot. I spill it
and red life runs across whitenoise
tablecloths, staining the stars. I watch
the faded magenta spiral into the arm
of a young son. His hands become
a crater, that slowly fills. I spin
in a coriolis chair, as my legs hang
derelict above the Earth. Under me
a dove dies, it’s feathers drift down,
and a great bird of fire rises. Its wings
spread, the fire consumes me, and
my vision goes black. When I awaken
I am standing under the hot pellets
of my shower.
Outside the window, the flakes appear.
The world is quiet when snow falls,
and the brown earth trembles,
like winter children, waiting
for the weather forecast
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
I still like the one you wrote a long time ago of an old man and a house. I still think of it when I write poetry
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
There's actually a hell of a lot going on, I'm still not quite done with it, but this poem is an old one that took a massive, massive re-write. The crater, the dove, and the phoenix are all constellations.
The line about the wine spiraling into the arm of the son, is a reference to our solar system as a spiral arm of the milky way galaxy...etc...etc...it's still way to dense though.
The poem your thinking of is "Country Real Estate" which I imagine can be found in the The best and worst of EvilToasterElf thread. Thanks for the comment, it's been a while.
Now, what could be done to enrich this? Hmmm, well, I like the way you convey different elemental processes: the ocean/liquids such as merlot, the earth/bodies/dust, and, obviously, fire and regeneration/creation. That's good stuff. But is there a way to ground the poem's reverie, this dream state, by juxtaposing it with other passages? I'm reading this poem, with your Japanese blogs in my head, and I'm making a kind of intertextual link between them. What I'm saying is, this poem could be the thematic DNA of a bigger work, of fragments and observations. Get me?
Cheers for the read, ETE.
"Cause I can't wait to figure out what's wrong with me
So I can say this is the way I use to be" -- John Mayer
dreamer in my dream
we got the guns
i love you,but im..............callin out.........callin out
Hmmm, obviously there's no way to write in a vacuum, and I can't disconnect myself from my surroundings, but this is mostly a re-write of a poem I wrote about 5 years ago. But there is a lot to be said for why a writer chooses to be so lofty, and what happens when he finally falls. I'll think about what pile of leaves I can rake this into. Thanks for the post Fins, it's been a while.
Yes, it has been a while! I'm writing songs these days, so I'm not posting much, but I do read everything. Hope you're doing well!
And I do have an interesting exercise laid before me now. I can figure out what part of my subconscious is connected to the symbolist shards, or if nothing is connected to it, invent something to fit the bill. As always sir, I am in your debt.
Good luck with the minstrelsy. (yeah, I butchered that one)