Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

A wind blew the gate off its hinges.
Wood slats rot in a muddy flood pool.
The door jamb has been knocked away
from the frame. I cannot remember my own name.
My head is on backwards. The cat begs
when he's already been fed. Why are my
eyes in back of my head?

The woman waits with her bags packed.
Meds will be divvied out as prescribed.
There is winter debris an eighth of an inch
thick and the paint will soon be chipping away.
It's been four months since the departure of
fall. I'm surprised I survived winter at all, though
apparently, I'm not dead.

My head is facing the opposite direction.
I question the possibility of resurrection.
A crocus fights its way to break soil.
Blood boils and eyes flame. What is the
name I am called? When autumn came, I buried
myself beneath fallen leaves, then
the ice, my breath the only means to warmth –

and now a swarm of bees already seek
the nectar from a peaking bud. I trudge through
a bed of mud, boots caked, heart-ached, pull
splines from a mine field and attempt to nail
the boards back together. I am an unhinged gate,
my fate not unlike a broken levee, swamped, downed,
drowned in a crimson pool, fooled by my spine

which is not behind but, instead, in front of me.
Why is my head on backwards so I cannot see
the direction of my feet? I repeat my plea –
Turn me back around! Turn me back around!
Did you hear the clear whistle of the train?
When the rain stops, I'll find the platform.
Maybe I'm dead but the coroner has not shown.

The woman sits alone. She waits with her bags
packed. The exact moment of departure has
been calculated. None of us are elated by the
plan. Damn the clock! Damn the minute hands!
I was so hopeful before when the more I played
music, the more harmony. But now just look at me.
My head is turned around backwards and I cannot
see my feet. I repeat the turn around plea.

We are one more decision closer to the nth degree
of separation, each doubt, each conclusion, a
hesitation, then a proceeding. It is with the meter
I am pleading. I turn the metronome off.
These are observations before or after the departure.
It is almost time now. I hear the hum of what for.
The gate is broken. I open up the door.

.....

footnote - wrote this a few minutes ago. I don't know what it means so if you do, either tell me or keep it to yourself so we can both be in the dark.

i have no idea either, D but it strikes a cord with me: the theme of seeking renewal especially.

~westie

kind of sounds like my life story
poetry beats me doreen.

I think this is a smashing poem, doreen

structurally very novel and the images flow

(the first line troubles me a bit. Its sounds too much like 'It was a dark and stormy night." which as any writer knows is the kiss of death as a first line.)

a cold wind blew the gate off its hinges



I kind of liked the line

shows you what I know.

westie - yes, i think that's part of the theme... there are mixed themes in this, it seems. Thanks much!

truckin- your life story, too? well, cool! we have more in common than i knew! and thanks very much, I liked that line, too.

Lightning Rod - thank your for your compliment and your critique, though I didn't ask for a critique. i realize when i put my work out there, someone will (and probably you) give me one. The opening line doesn't sound a bit like "it was a dark and stormy night" but you are quite welcome to your opinion, as always.

thanks for reading, you guys

I was thinking about this photograph by ~k Hinge

But that had nothing to do with your poem.
Hinges are a powerful image or metaphor for me. So is the wind.

I feel unhinged these days

this reads like a poem that rolled out of your head on its own; sometimes all one has to do is get out of the way. liked immensely.

nice hinge, truckin'... thanks for sharing that link!...

....

dino, thank you very much.
comments like yours make me want to write more.

A cold wind blew the gate off its hinges.

It was as dark and stormy night.

how can you fail to see the comparison?

after all, you have eyes in the back of your head

I said I thought is was a good poem. What? do you want me to suck your toes too?

how can you fail to see the comparison?

after all, you have eyes in the back of your head

I said I thought is was a good poem. What? do you want me to suck your toes too?

i am sorry LR, but I find your quote offensive and baiting. really inappropriate on all levels and at this site as well.

westcoast

omg you caught me.. lol.. westie.. i was just deleting all our in public banter

sighh... now you repllied so i'll leave what's left
sorry.. didn't know anybody was here but him and i

geez

________________________

LEt me fill in the missing posts

I asked LRod why he felt compelled to compare a line in my writing to the most well-known worst writing in the history of literature.

and then he answered (which is above)

oh man, remind me not to edit a public bulletin board again

i'm so sorry

Clay:
Have you ever really felt the power of the wind?
As if your life was in the wind?
I think it be a very powerful opening line that drew me into the poem.
It set a tone of despair that is/was palpable.
As if a life was being blown off its hinges.
it was a hell of a good line clay
sounds like it touched a nerve with you.


Yes you are right doreen the link had nothing to do with your poem.

Doreen - "...a few minutes ago," in a few minutes? Hardly seems, 'specially given the syntactical/verbiage/Rhyming-Rhymed/alliterative/engaging-lure Power of this Work; as for the analogy (specious) w/ 'It was a dark and stormy night." any "opening" bears the intriguing-possibility if what ensues presents intriguing, like the salutatory, "Hi, I'm Joe," whom turns-out to be the most interesting character One might encounter in One's entire Lifetime (say, Joseph Campbell, or Joseph In Egypt , or that other "Joe," er, what'shisname, the J-GUY?...). This Work, by now you've gleaned, is a grabber! H'H./H.e.m.

Ahh... yeah... I guess I said that wrong. No, I didn't write it in a few minutes. I should have said "I just finished writing this a few minutes ago." It took a little longer than that.

thanks much, Haro... your kind compliments are appreciated.

Oh and you have inspired me to use "Hi, I'm Joe" as the first line of a novel I'm trying to write. heh It's perfect.