I would have me emptied, and to remain behind.
A plastic bag gripping a winter tree, in the wind, and the sound it makes is empty.
You hear shoes down the hall, though you don’t live in a house. They sound as if they are approaching. The truth is, they are not getting any nearer. And you remember you have been left behind.
Reflections in a bowl, sometimes city lights, sometimes the stars, for dinner.
You stop to read the graffiti, and the notes tapped to windows, posted from the inside facing out, written on, leaving no margins: I think this happens more so than it should, in poorer cities.
I would have me slapstick readied, though I remain on board. I know the captain has burned the charts. I know the city birds are one big computer.
The notes in the windows sometimes include pictures: an angel with the living earth for feet, or burning trees with typeset for flames.
A skirmish of ghosts, folding in on itself, breathes its last. I am at sea. Without a bathing suit in the arms of stars.
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once again, Bob, the images compel: the sinister underpinnings of this 🙂
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Thanks John. This one is more sinister, but I hope I left some room for hope.
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Glorious and infinitely sad too
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Thank you. I am glad you think so. That was what I was hoping, to present both.
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Cor! I really like the third stanza, Bob.
Quite, quite haunting…no, nightmarish (?)
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Thank you Nick. I think so too, especially that stanza. But hopefully it’s not all gloom, and I did sneak some hope in there too.
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Hell yeah!
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Wonderful job. There are so many great lines in this poem. I love the imagery in the last stanza.
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I’m glad you think so. Thanks!
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This is wonderful.
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Thank you!
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Lots of imagery in these verses.
Art
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Thank you Art.
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