The Window (2nd revision of The Coat)

[Lawrence]

After work, he always sits
By his kitchen window,
Watches day dissolve
Into darkness.

Outside, it’s winter. The sun
Sinks into a hammock
Of oaks and rusted fire.
It burns rebellious blood-
Resisting sleep like
A child forced to an early bed.
But earth has no patience
For tantrums; soon the sun
slips beneath its blanket-
Leaving pink echoes of light
To wander in the scattered clouds.

He smiles.
To him, it’s satisfaction.

Minutes later, blackness.
Below, streetlights direct ghosts-
Their green-yellow-reds
Now meaningless; the language
Of a vanished race.

He collects his coat
and steps into the city.
It’s not too cold, so tonight
He’ll walk as far as the park.
He looks upward; the moon
Is a broken monocle
Glowing with sagacious light.
Weeks ago, it was Christmas-
Wires woven onto windows,
Bulbs illuminating snow-
It almost makes you forget
That the moon exists at all.

When he arrives,
His footprints are first
To crack the carpet of ice-
Each crunching step
Like a lone percussion
Leading him to the park bench.
Even late at night,
It’s the only place
That escapes the city.

He sits amongst the ferns,
thinks of the moon; happy-
That there’s nothing
Here for him anymore

He loves nothing; inhabits it
The way a serpent
Cools beneath stone.
Sometimes, he lays in bed;
Pretends he is ascending
Floating higher and higher
Until he becomes a star-
Invisible to even God.
____________________________________
PREVIOUS VERSION

After work, he always sits
By his kitchen window.

Outside, It’s winter. The sun
Sinks into a hammock
Of oaks and rusted fire;
It tries to keep itself alive-
Resisting death like
A child resists bedtime.
But that tantrum is too tiring.
It resigns, secretly at peace

He smiles.
To him, it’s satisfaction.

Minutes later, blackness.
Below, streetlights direct ghosts-
Their green-yellow-reds
Now meaningless; the language
Of a vanished race.

He collects his coat
and steps out into the city.
It’s not too cold, so tonight
He’ll walk as far as the park.
He looks upward; the moon
Is a broken monocle
Glowing with sagacious light.
It’s odd. Weeks ago, it was Christmas-
Wires woven onto windows,
Bulbs illuminating snow-
It almost makes you forget
That the moon exists at all.

The park is a white carpet
Crowded with fern trees.
Even late at night,
It’s the only place
That escapes the city.
No man is an island,
But cities, cities leave you landlocked.

He sits on the bench, thinks
Of the sun. Happy-
That there’s nothing here for him.


He loves nothing; inhabits it
The way a rattlesnake
Cools beneath stone.
Sometimes, he lays in bed;
Pretends he is ascending
Floating higher and higher
Until he becomes a star-
Invisible to even God.

[billy]

about the edit (and thanks for putting them together
The Window (2nd revision of The Coat)

After work, he always sits
By his kitchen window,
Watches day dissolve would it work better as; 'Watches the day dissolve
Into darkness. is this line redundant, unless it's dissolving into butter or something other than darkness, the edit on this stanza is better, more solid.

Outside, it’s winter. The sun
Sinks into a hammock
Of oaks and rusted fire.
It burns rebellious blood- is blood needed?
Resisting sleep like
A child forced to an early bed.
But earth has no patience
For tantrums; soon the sun is the 2nd sun needed? would 'it' suffice?
slips beneath its blanket-
Leaving pink echoes of light is light needed?
To wander in the scattered clouds. great edit on this stanza. again it has more substance, more power. some good images

He smiles.
To him, it’s satisfaction.

Minutes later, blackness.
Below, streetlights direct ghosts-
Their green-yellow-reds
Now meaningless; the language
Of a vanished race. glad this wasn't edited

He collects his coat
and steps into the city.
It’s not too cold, so tonight
He’ll walk as far as the park.
He looks upward; the moon
Is a broken monocle
Glowing with sagacious light.
Weeks ago, it was Christmas- works better this way
Wires woven onto windows,
Bulbs illuminating snow-
It almost makes you forget would 'him' be better than 'you'?
That the moon exists at all. the rework of this stanza, though small makes a differrence

When he arrives, where has he arrived?
His footprints are first
To crack the carpet of ice- good image (virgin snow)
Each crunching step
Like a lone percussion is like needed?
Leading him to the park bench.
Even late at night, is 'even? needed?
It’s the only place
That escapes the city. much with the edit. much better than the island thing

He sits amongst the ferns,
thinks of the moon; happy- is 'thinks of the moon needed?
That there’s nothing is 'that' needed?
Here for him anymore

He loves nothing; inhabits it
The way a serpent
Cools beneath stone.
Sometimes, he lays in bed;
Pretends he is ascending
Floating higher and higher
Until he becomes a star-
Invisible to even God.

i did a full line by line and showed all my nits (which of course can be discarded ) i think the edit is much string packs more depth and power into the poem. everything's jmo. thanks for the read and great edit.

[Lawrence]

Thanks Billy! I'll probably take out blood and light, and I'll deeply consider your other comments.
I'll do one more revision of this, and then I'll put it away for a month or two.

[heslopian]

There's nothing I can say that Billy hasn't said already. The revision is longer and yet crisper than the previous piece, and on that level is a smashing success. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

[Todd]

Hi Lawrence,

You've taken a strong poem and made it better. I found the revision very strong. I really liked this addtion especially:

Each crunching step
Like a lone percussion

Adding sound was great.

You replaced rattlesnake with serpent. I'm mixed on this. Serpent works better sonically. However, serpent gives the sense of deception whereas rattlesnake gives the sense of danger. I prefer rattlesnake but it really depends on what you're trying to convey.

Same brilliant ending line.

Solid work.

Best,

Todd