White Room

The windows of my soul have been

sheeted; cool and soft,

white rooms and blank tiles,

digging in snow,

sucking at ice in the last big cloud.

Like a ballon I must be tied

to the arms of the earth. So

curl me up and wash all the mess

out of me, being a shell

of rubber and pumps.

I am filled with things that once grew.

My last lover, a box of lights and pictures.

I might even wave

or blow a kiss across the white sea.

Let me be pushed, let me drop like milk. 

Reviews

[Neon]

Nice description ... It's a great perception of your eyes. Well done.

[Frieda P]

I feel as though this is a lump of clay waiting to be molded by what life had to, or has to offer, there's depth to this color white, the likes of we'll never fully uncover. Intense read Leslie, going in my favorites.

[emmajoy]

Is it perception of self that makes a poet write like this, superbly and with great depth! White has colour and what we see in the 'white' is what our eyes truly detect - just as the sensitive.observer sees and feels life and needs write about it. Our view of our personal world is tainted with moods and mind .. colours bend, colours merge, just as thoughts do. And what happens? A superb poem that defies complete understanding and remains partly hidden.

'Like a ballon I must be tied ~ to the arms of the earth.' - that says so much.

[icelandicblue]

White can represent so many things. I hadn't thought about it before but it is truly a versatile color. I see a coolness in your poem, a shiver of thoughts that collect and grow only to be cleaned in an antiseptic way. A blank slate once again but ready to be pushed, or dropped like milk. A beautiful poem in its starkness.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"in my white room with black curtains"

how can it be so dark in a white room. my friend, you have portrayed a craziness that many poets feel...like we are separate entities from the human race because we are misunderstood, feared.

Why? our words are only true chronicles of the way it is...maybe they don't want to hear...so they put is in that rubber room and let us bounce off the walls looking to be accepted...

i love this poem...the metaphor is absolutely perfectly carried throughout the entire poem, not bits and pieces of it....strong thread.

[Strider Marcus Jones]

"let me drop like milk."

Theme beautifully drawn in language bent to stunning images like this. Superb poetic skill. Into my library/favourites. 100/100

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Dear Leslie you are more like SH than you know. You craft your poetry as all the greats do. This has so much depth and echo to it. I feel tingles of reflection and either contentment or thoughts of death in my interpretation of this piece.