My Little Glass Box

Trapped.

I see the world so beautiful:

The giant trees and sparkling rocks.

I see it all so wonderful

From within my little glass box.

The clouds turn orange

As the sun sets low;

The birds all chirp 

As the rivers flow.

I dream of touching it,

I dream of living it,

But all my dreams are for not

As I sit in my little glass box.

As I sleep, I dream

Of waters so colossal and grand,

Sending water and billowing steam

Across the green and lustrous land.

I see the flower bloom in the springtime air;

The wind whispers through the grass.

But I cannot touch it, 

I cannot live it,

Living in my box of glass.

Oh the luck that others have

To wander free and be what they want to be!

I want to revel in that which I see,

But I cannot touch it,

I cannot live it,

My dreams are under key and lock 

While I sit in my little glass box.

Despair soon overwhelms me. 

How can this be?

I beat against the glass,

Crying my desperate plea.

But no one can hear my desperate calls

From with theses clear and crystal walls.

So this is to be my fate,

Forever imprisoned; to watch and wait,

To see life but never live it.

The sun comes up across the way,

But in despair, night takes over day.

I shall listen of Eternity's knocks;

Forever I sit in my little glass box.

Reviews

[James Hanna-Magill]

Dear Curtis

I think I reviewed you a long time ago.

We have both been away for different reasons. But we are both now back.

I wanted to look at how you're doing on here. So I scanned some of your writing and then I hit this little gem of yours to which I immediately emotionally react.

In the interests of trying to be thorough about this, let me give you a structured review. It is a model I sometimes use to review poetry. What I do with prose differs.

Go:

Structure: Six verses. Length of each verse in lines: 1st four; second eight; third nine; fourth seven; fifth six; and sixth and last seven. Without wishing to repeat the obvious, you are not concerned by having a fixed structure. Some do. Some don't. Structure is just an edifice round which some writers shape their writing to establish a certain effect. You don't need to and you don't. Writing is from the heart and sometimes it takes on a shape because it takes in an emotional shape with no forethought. So no problem this end.

Rhyme: You do this a lot. But again in no fixed pattern. But how you do use it is to best effect where I think you want to emphasise a point.

List: 'rocks ...box' (that one is key); low ... flow; dream ... steam; grand ... land; be ... see; calls .. walls (that's a good reinforcer here); and then in your last verse all your rhymes are in couplets apart from one line. I think you use your rhyme effectively at various points to kick in you message hard and that applies above all to your last verse envoi.

Rhythm: Nothing fixed but nothing out of place.

Use of English: Nothing complex. It fits your theme.

Metaphor / simile / analogy: I have mentioned use of English, but I want to come back to it shortly in terms of richness. But also with the notion of metaphor, it does not work for me unless I try and capture the whole. The key to this piece? Your title, repeated throughout the poem: My little glass box.

So far I really haven't said anything I consider meaningful about this poem when actually it is full to the brim with meaning and emotion.

Meaning: Let me just briefly at least give my interpretation, reader to writer. You may mean something but each writer owes a duty of care to allow the reader their own view.

It is obvious. You exist. But you do not exist.

You are alive but there is no quality to your life.

You observe but you cannot take part.

You desperately want to but there is something that is holding you back.

Your life is one of despair and vulnerability so much so that you cannot see the beauty of what others see or experience it.

You sit in your little glass box and the problem with the box is that is it made of easily broken glass.

BUT the question we are all left with is WHY do you feel like that and therein lies part of its intrigue.

And now onto the most important piece of your poem and what I often find most potent in any writing and that is the emotional impact not so much on others but rather on me.

I may bore by saying this often, but no writer should assume an audience. There may be one. But a writer and a reader are having a personal conversation individually and the reaction of the reader depends on the life experience of each.

The emotional impact on me and in the way you put it? immense!

Albeit I cannot really say one verse or lines is better than another, maybe this I consider the key one for me which says it all in the most lyrical of styles:

'As I sleep, I dream
Of waters so colossal and grand,
Sending water and billowing steam
Across the green and lustrous land.
I see the flower bloom in the springtime air;
The wind whispers through the grass.
But I cannot touch it,
I cannot live it,
Living in my box of glass.'

Why?

All writing sends electric shock waves down my spine. I am an empath. I feel others pain to the point of physically.

First point: This resembles so much my poem 'A walk in the Park, They say.' Even down to the use of the word glass. It is a poem about agoraphobia. It talks about my dreams of being in the world again but my inability to join it.

But you: Why?

Second point: I have another piece on here called 'I, You and We'. It questions whether I even exist and proposes the only way any of us know we exist. It is only 60 words, but forgive me if I quote it here for your interest:

'Within, I perceive my body, the world and you. You prove that I am.

Beauty resides in uniqueness, in you and me. We have never been before and will never be again. Freedom is our birthright and its misuse our damnation.

But together, in all that we may be, the flame of hope for our salvation burns more brightly still'

It seems to me you query here whether you actually exist or not, but to the extent you feel locked up in your box of despair that cannot access the world, you know what you are missing.

But why?.

In 'I, You and We' I try to provide a solution. Much of my poetry sets up a negative proposition, a fault I have, my despair at life, my illness but always seeks a solution in the end. But you do not and leave yourself trapped in your little glass box.

But why?

Let me quote back to you the complete majesty of your own words in your last verse. There we can hope to find a conclusion if any there may be and by the way I think these words are subtly well written

'So this is to be my fate,
Forever imprisoned; to watch and wait,
To see life but never live it.
The sun comes up across the way,
But in despair, night takes over day.
I shall listen of Eternity's knocks;
Forever I sit in my little glass box.'

Let me take you away from this for a minute before bringing you back to it.

My recognition? My bipolar disorder leaves me an outsider to life looking in. I am a recluse. I know life is out there to enjoy, but I can't access it for so many reasons that block me. I know it is wonderful and the loss and associated despair are overwhelming.

There is a wonderful writer on here, and I am sure he will not mind me mentioning him in honour. Ken Simm. He often writes nature diaries. He is a writer, a painter, a hill walker, an ornithologist and natural historian. I read once one of his diaries and nearly cried because precisely he does see the beauty of life, revels in and enjoys every aspect of it. I said to him once, I wish I could see the world through your eyes.

Curtis you are trapped and so am I.

But why in your case?

In the end only you can answer that question as only I can for me.

Bipolar disorder, a mental health disorder has destroyed what was once a very rich and beautiful life where I felt part of society. Now I am on my own and like Camus' 'L'Etranger' I am an outsider looking in at a life I can no longer grasp, from he outside.

Curtis? I think the key to any piece of writing is the emotional reaction you get from any reader.

This piece has played with my head all morning and has huge personal significance for me.

I empathise with your notion completely. But I know why I feel like that but you never say why.

But why, Curtis for you?

Curtis this piece has moved me more than others I have reviewed recently. It is as if you are describing my life.

I hope this helps as reader to writer.

There is power to your words and how you carefully construct them.

I admire this piece of open honesty so well expressed.

In all kindness and friendship

James

[Emily]

I really like it!
Well done!
Keep it up!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

and sometimes that glass box is not real...it is in our minds...and it causes us to be afraid to step outside of ourselves...we trap ourselves with a lack of confidence to explore life...

i like the allegory you use here, really works well.