Solitude forgot its wallet
Not bothering with conversation, solitude sees if its diaries float
Each letter of solitude was offered a role in a comic book movie
Solitude of a few shirts, and feet covered in the leather of old shoes
Solitude of waste basket prose… the emptiness of a flame
The noise sweeps the heart
November astronauts are solitude
The universe is a tee shirt looking for a ride home, solitude of a
bicycle
And lonesome like a cartoon coyote
But what of the falling leaves?
It’s impossible to count them all. All the leaves. But what if
counting had an out of body experience? Took LSD, and
began licking its Zen palms?
In conclusion
Almost night now
The hurry of pillows and the dot that is the moon
The gulls are
Mugs restaurant-white
Dropped along the shores of one of the Great Lakes
Across the river from Canada
Thanks Nick! Your comment made me smile. I don’t know if I would give it any specific meaning, but I do like to walk alone, especially in a dreary November dusk.
Wonderfully surreal like much of your work. I much enjoy that you ended this poem with a vowel that trails of the tongue like a breeze from afar. Well done.
You are welcome Bob. I am very interested in the sound of poetry and whether it supports the sense. I read it all aloud, much to the annoyance of those that share my abode (except the dog). I don’t want to be too effusive, but that vowel, man oh man, a masterstroke.
OK- just read it again, the sonics throughout. Shit man! Look at the first line, the hard stop at “wallet” forces a long pause, a point of reflection. what could this mean. You do this everywhere in this piece, even in the long slur at “tee shirt”. In all seriousness this piece stands as an example of the power of free verse.
I don’t have such a handle on what this means.
And I’m glad for it, too.
It only prompts more reading and a fondness for gravity.
In conclusion…
‘November astronauts are solitude’
x
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Thanks Nick! Your comment made me smile. I don’t know if I would give it any specific meaning, but I do like to walk alone, especially in a dreary November dusk.
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Wonderfully surreal like much of your work. I much enjoy that you ended this poem with a vowel that trails of the tongue like a breeze from afar. Well done.
D
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Thanks Devon. I always appreciate your comments. And I’m very glad you liked this poem. I am over joyed by your reading of the end of this poem.
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You are welcome Bob. I am very interested in the sound of poetry and whether it supports the sense. I read it all aloud, much to the annoyance of those that share my abode (except the dog). I don’t want to be too effusive, but that vowel, man oh man, a masterstroke.
D
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Thanks again. Really, it means a lot.
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OK- just read it again, the sonics throughout. Shit man! Look at the first line, the hard stop at “wallet” forces a long pause, a point of reflection. what could this mean. You do this everywhere in this piece, even in the long slur at “tee shirt”. In all seriousness this piece stands as an example of the power of free verse.
D
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Awesome. I’m really glad you think so.
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This is brilliant. Made me smile. Well done.
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I’m very glad you liked it. Thank you!
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Of course. Your poetry is always a pleasure to read.
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Nice blog
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Thank you!
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