Under the Chair

Under the Chair

A Poem by Marri
"

constructive criticism always welcome

"

Steps

With their sound sucked out

In the black

Of an eyeless Munch

are

Scattered softly

As if fog

and

Overdubbed with wind

And that sharp

And tender

Violin

Bark

Of

 

a

girl’s

shout.

Steps

She runs,

I follow

to

where

we both belong

There, in the dirt

Of cracked, dry

Ground

Of a Sunday lunch,

With mouths

Full

With silence.

Steps,

Un-stepped

In that bright

House,

Hers,

From the sink

To the table,

Mine made

Under the chair,

Both labeled

Husband and wife.

Steps,

She runs,

I follow,

To

Where

We both belong,

There, in the dirt

Of cracked, dry

ground

 

I

am

waiting

for

Monday

 

 

 

© 2013 Marri


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Reviews

the imagery in this one is broken so loosely.... like they are separating right before your eyes... it's quite a phenomenon.. in the black of an eyeless Munch... you incorporate these artistic influences that only makes me fall deeper into those empty eyes in search of something.. violin bark of a girl's shout... that is so original! it immediately jolts and calls you to attention! this domestic scene like scattered memories coming together to form a nucleus family..... and in a split second.. it is gone with a new week.. you just leave me wanting more warmth.. and more to explore of that house... fragments indeed, this is nostalgic, abstract, surreal at the same time, all my favourite elements... you are brilliant.

Posted 11 Years Ago


Circe

11 Years Ago

the music was contained in the poem..... even the steps are like musical progression..!
Marri

11 Years Ago

and all the abstract ideas patched together in my inner chaos immediately get shape collaged on top .. read more
Circe

11 Years Ago

i am so happy to share in this passion with you!... your words always challenge me to look for meani.. read more

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1 Review
Added on January 6, 2013
Last Updated on January 6, 2013

Author

Marri
Marri

Bremen, Germany



About
http://www.marrri-nikolova.tumblr.com/ 'If I knew myself, I'd run away...' I pick a word, phrase, sentence, sometimes even a whole chunk of text from what I wrote yesterday, the day be.. more..

Writing
Grapes Grapes

A Poem by Marri