The State

The caricatures of our soul,
Trapped within white walls,
Sinking into the slumber of morning.
Trees, of which we are the mothers,
Or perhaps wild nature’s offspring.
When we place our hands on the table,
Awaiting food,
We see our grown children through the window.
The tip of the pen leaves lines on the paper,
Trapped within white walls,
Sinking into the slumber of morning.
Deaf concrete houses
Disrupt the echo of stillness
Oh, the emptiness.
Bresson’s films,
Breaking into us,
Like the diary of a country priest,
Written on black pages
In white correction fluid.

Reviews

[Twilight]

This brought different thoughts to mind, for me.

We are products of nature, and nature is sometimes referred to as "mother nature"; so it follows that we are nature's children.

And, as with children; "we routinely place our hands on the table, awaiting food". Indeed, even as adults, we remain dependents upon mother nature - as the source of our food.

The whiteness referenced more than once, in this piece; can be a good metaphor in different ways. Here, it is possibly being used to represent emptiness; or soullessness.

A page can be as empty and unused, as a painter's canvas

I have not seen Bresson's films, although I do like some so called arthouse films; and not others. It may be worthwhile, my trying his work - Mari.

I did quite like my DVD edition of Cold Mountain, and your poem reference of a while back, sparked my interest in the film; now to be retained for rewatches. The novel is with me now too, and I aim to give it a read; as soon as I can fit it in.

"Deaf concrete houses" might "disrupt the echo if stillness", in your perception.

For me, that might mean the opposite; brought about by the sturdy build of those concrete structures. For example, by creating a sense of being trapped like an animal. And, thus magnifying an accompanying feeling through lonely phases of life.

Fortunately, for the sufficiently intelligent and imaginative; our minds can always be free? No matter where, our bodies happen to be - in space and time.

A thoughtful and enigmatic poem, Mari. Thankyou, for sharing.

[Black Branches]

Thank you!