Observations before the departure

[Doreen Peri]

(written in 2008)

A cold 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 the departure.
It is almost time now. I hear the hum of what for.
The gate is broken. I open up the door.

[judih]

grandly presented
yes!

[revolutionR]

Life doesn't just happen to us
we have to learn how to live
the only way you can learn how to live
is to acknowledge that you don't know how
and herein lies the rub, you take the brunt
no matter how you take it, by ignoring it
or by confronting it directly, the difference is
that in attempting to look at it on the face of it
you also have to remove the blinders that have
been surreptitiously placed there by habit
it is not just a matter of looking forward
thus it becomes paramount to be able to
look all around, but our heads are attached
to look only forward, unless we made the effort
to turn our heads, even then we cannot turn our heads backward
one must turn their whole bodies around to look behind them
in the process of looking in front of us, and looking to either side
and then having to actually turn all the way around
we get caught up in the effort of concentrating on one or the other
left, right, behind, in front, are all evolutionary necessity, and yet
we have placed a whole lot of emphasis on the meaning of these
actions, as if nature had not already showed us all the meaning
let's put it this way, we were made to be able to rotate our view
of things, this does not just apply to physical need, but that is where
things become complicated, now we actually have to think about
what direction we are moving in, if religion is a evolutionary strategy
then, somewhere along the line, we made a grave error, in placing all the
emphasis on right and wrong, we don't say left and wrong, how did the
word right become associated with the best possible direction to go in
when did we place a evolutionary marker on one direction over another
if it is all about survival, then what are we surviving for, some vague
impression out there, does not seem to be worth all the ruckus
that those who are supposed to know why we are here, would lead us to
believe, so it goes in all possible directions, until it finally gives up
and asks the last and only real question to ask, why is there something
rather then nothing, and when you find the answer to an impossible
question, your head will be able to spin around on its shoulders
but by that time you will be a artificial intelligence, go figure

[saw]

the self examination of transition poses many questions...the infusion of subtle rhyme works well ..... the anticipation of changes, the uncertainty we have all been faced with at times move this poem along familiar tracks

[Doreen Peri]

Craig... that was a thoughtful reply which made me think ... I read it 2x. I liked what you had to say, was quite surprised my poem inspired all that... I didn't like the ending, though, cause the last thing I want to be is artificial intelligence. I have a hard enough time being (or using) human intelligence. If people combine with machines, or when machines begin to think for themselves, may the universe help us all! Did you ever read or see the movie "I, Robot"? *shudder* .... I posted this because I saw you wrote a poem titled "point of departure" and the title reminded me of this poem I wrote.

Steve... I wrote this piece when my mom's health was deteriorating. Though she lived until March of this year (2014), she was already deteriorating in 2008 and she was transported from her assisted living facility to the hospital and back again several times. The woman with the packed bags is my mother. Though I usually don't explain my poems, I thought that knowing this may give some more insight into the examination of life I'm exploring in the poem. It's a bizarre piece, I realize, not exactly self-examination but close... more an examination of life passing, time passing, the changing of seasons and eras.

_________
At any rate, whatever the reader gets from my poems is always my intention.

I love to read or hear readers' responses to my pieces and how they interpreted them. It's a joy to know that the words I blended together caused a reader some type of personal response. Thank you both for reading and for your replies.

[revolutionR]

Just a meandering thought stream, as a kind of take off
from the confusion of how we walk and talk, and or
chew gum at the same time. Had to find some logical
conclusion to all this confusion, and the claim that
we can think and chew gum at the same time.I don't
know where this phrase came from, what is it about
chewing gum? I use to chew gum when I was a kid,
and a teenager. Lately I got some gum at a health
food store without processed sugar, and I tried chewing
again, and found it helps me a little to concentrate better
and I'm chewing and thinking at the same time? take this
image and apply it to using a piece of gum to make a
machine work better.I also think of the scene at the
end of Last Tango in Paris. Anyway, artificial intelligence
is where some people imagine all this thinking will lead us.
which would be the opposite of poetry? What funny beings
humans are.

[68degrees]

What a beautiful poem. Love the apprehension of the narrator...waiting, bags packed. Waiting. I almost get a chill. Reminds me of "Our Town" when George is talking to Emily (who is dead) but in plain view of the audience. We know she is dead. George knows she is dead. Emily knows she is dead, but there she is...no emotion. Just waiting. She can't respond, not the way George wants her to. It's one of the most powerful scenes in theater. I watch the version w/Hal Holbrook every once in a while. It's poetry at its finest.

Again, in its own way, what a beautiful poem.

68degrees

[Doreen Peri]

Craig... I can chew gum and walk at the same time, but I can't walk and chew gum at the same time. Go figure. Meandering thought streams are what I love about you and writing, too. Thank you for the tango, human being!

68degrees.... That's a trip how you thought of "Out Town"... what a great scene you mentioned and yeah, that whole play is a poem, for sure! Thank you for reading this and I'm honored that you like it and it touched you in some way. Now I need to find the Hal Holbrook version online and watch it again. It's been a long time.