In the wings

The heavy black velours swallow sound, light, dust.
I touch one: dessicated time cascades:
I have to resist the tickle in my throat
the trickle in my armpits.

In the light, time cascades, draws me;
my belly lurches toward the red exit sign:
but I stand my ground, ready for the certain:
I will stumble out across the wood.

Familiar patterns dissolve, refocus:
words become notes on an alien scale,
emphases become cues, false promises,
vertical threatens to become horizontals.

I rediscover breathing, chant resolutions:
resolve to walk deserts, climb mountains,
give to the homeless who might be baby
Jesus or Mohammed or the Bhudda—oh

The voice of the poet

riverwriter reads:  
(Visited 19 times, 1 visits today)
FavoriteLoadingAdd to favorites

About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in Poetry, thoughts below ground and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *