Vision, October 1999

A dream from childhood.

Vision, October 1999

 

In the cornered streets of one’s mind

One finds the distorted remains

Of what once used to be mindful

 

Ravens wait at the carcasses of goats

And rats scamper into routine hiding places

days shift seasons

Into a fading oblivion

 

Matchsticks scratch and then flicker

Fade out into a vibrating flame

 

Poets tackle their own footsteps,

Jump over small puddles, the color

Of fresh blood on ignored tar

 

But I think you’ve forgotten to notice

The lovely ribbons of lights, discarded from heaven

Turning crimson on contact with concrete

 

And the careful journey of black clouds

Against their own white outline

Maybe hiding a decayed sun

 

At such times one must become a zombie

To walk excuseless

In the streets of one’s mind

 

Who knows

One may find many lost reasons

Of what once used to be

 

The surreal aim of life’s dream

 

 

 

Author's Note

Use of simple words is on purpose.

Reviews

[Devons]

This is an interesting little exploration of perspective through memory. The dark side and the light side. The significant possiblities that may lie discarded in either. Sometimes it may explain who we really are, though we may well have lost sight of it somewhere along the paths we often inexplicably seem to take. Perhaps it indicates that life is far from a journey of chosen and accidental routes, and that fate (depending on what you call fate) is insidiously taking charge and controlling the illogical signposts.

"The surreal aim of life’s dream."

...A profound examination of the dark inscrutability of the mind.. and life.

PS. "Of what once used to mindful" >>> shouldn't that read "..we used to BE mindful.." ??

[Jenny Nelson]

Well done! What goes on in our heads, trying to reconcile with what goes on in front of our eyes... wanting light, seeing so much dark.

[Sara]

jeez, it's too early in the morning for me to be reviewing this kind of dark, post-apocalyptic poetry (i haven't even had my coffee yet! ;))... but no, seriously, great poem, i definitely think your use of simple words works here, it adds to the whole burned-out, wrecked feel of this person's mind, like he couldn't manage anything more... your use of imagery is always very strong, and you have such talent at turning a phrase -- you make a simple act of lighting a matchstick and seeing it go out *mean* something -- you give it this sadly beautiful depth; it could almost be construed as a metaphor for the entire poem, darkness where there was once light... i'm not exaggerating when i say you're one of my favorite poets at the WC because your work seems to have these many different layers to it, can be read in these many different ways (poetry that's to-the-point is usually kinda boring in my opinion :D)... and the fact that your stuff is just plain well-written is only the silver lining. ;) so keep sending me RRs, cause i always like checking out your new work!

[StacyPerry]

The last line said it all to me.

[Gomer LePoet]

Strong visions in your vision. I do not think I can grasp your vision, don't know if war is referred to here with the blood on the tar, or the end of the world in the dacaying sun. Interesting.

[An owl on the moon]

You do capture that sense of a childhood vision, and do so in a vivid stream of thoughts and feelings. Rich glimpse of the beauty mingled with decay and desperation. Powerfully written.

[Miss Coral]

This was amazing. Incredible imagery and a string of passionate emotions. Wonderful job.

[LisetteCanWrite!]

Wow.. a torrid of emotions runs through metaphors deeply in this one.. I read it a few times.. quite magnetic and hypnotic.. you have dispair mixed with reasoning that is at quite a mind blowing height. The picture painted in my mind was not a very nice scene.. there was light but with everything contrasted with dark troubling shadows. Your stanza:

Poets tackle their own footsteps,
Jump over small puddles, the color
Of fresh blood on ignored tar

Most artists of high calibre are not noticed or acclaimed until well after they are long gone..this represents to me a change back to the way art used to be perceived.. a sad statement that COULD ring true. Excellent portrayal that is sad but strongly projects a possible destiny or prophecy within a vision. It's the shadow to dreaming..

[miSS LEaf]

many highlighted contrasts depicted in this write; reading first line to the last i felt i was witnessing "one's" dark realm gradually brought out into enlightenment, enjoyed :)
~L

[faryn wolff]

Fantastic work. I think there's a morbid sense of hope in there, but the naked truth is to be focused on. The imagery is perfect and sets the entire mood. . . The crowded streets of the mind, the goat carcass, the decayed sun. Your use of language is brilliant. Thank you for sharing.

[Gandré]

But I think you’ve forgotten to notice

The lovely ribbons of lights, discarded from heaven

Turning crimson on contact with concrete

------------------------------- I liked this metaphor and abstractions. I think I didn't understand - of fresh blood on ignored tar - this metaphor was too strong in this quite tender poem... but I am not in your mind, I don*t know.. so nicely you were addressing the subconscious.