The Man Who Stepped Outside

Statues in the snow and walks in the park in winter

The Man Who Stepped Outside

Iron strangers on iron benches still Frozen in time below barometers reach At zero you can feel the touch of March Remain motionless until both come alive Which is never but never mind Covered in the thick snow of middle winter Coats and blankets unknown in these parts More dead than alive as forms might whisper Once they lived but that is only a cold wind Obviously a mistake, a joke among the trees No one knows the names of faceless statues Why should they? The pines dangle low so frozen Branches ice laden in weight Bow frozen under snow Was it a cold and numbered day in February Recollections of birds who left droppings On what could have been in the phantom park's domain Making sounds picked up by silence and words unheard Leaves clung on to hope of multicolored trees of fall The man remembered everything he left behind Locked the door, turned slowly on to cobblestone One foot in front of the other as the airy rain kept coming Keeping tempo to the time of thirty years ago or so Which passed by in ordinary time more slowly When he returned the door opened wide Something funny was going on inside alright Everything was organized except for something If only he could remember what it was this time He would not have stepped outside but he forgot But thirty years would still have passed him by February comes again with angry ice With snow which covers every soul Without the man who stepped outside to walk By this time the lock and key will have changed Rain will fall but never lose a drop In seconds if not sooner if he returns The man who stepped outside forgotten The weather will have gotten better If not worse this time

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Earl, this has to be the favourite of all the poems you have posted. So many thoughts about the man who stepped outside and why. Your wintry imagery superb and it reminded me with its statues of a visit to Highgate Cemetery, which is a Victorian one in London. This seems to me to be about a return visit to a place. It is melancholic, it reminds me that our time on this plane is limited, then we are gone. Eventually forgotten by everyone. Wonderful writing.

Hope you are ok my friend.

Chris