Again and in between when we converge,
the moment drifts into the distance with the crows,
cawing over breakfast litter in the parking lot
as white-hot time above begins to burn
away the morning dew. I make my bed
with only the necessary folds, let an hour pass
before drinking coffee to avoid an afternoon crash,
and scroll through social media. After an hour,
I re-watch a show through someone else's tears
and laughter while I sip the coffee cold. Then
when it's time to clean, I vacuum, water a prayer
into the rotting bonsai, do the laundry,
dust the furniture but forget the fan as it spins
for another day, another day like a forgotten poem
that the baseboard keeps, forever
unseen by the lover it exists for.
Draft 1: Day Off
Again and in between when we converge,
the moment drifts into the distance with the crows,
cawing over breakfast litter in the parking lot
as white-hot time above begins to burn
away the morning dew. I make my bed
with only the necessary folds, let an hour pass
before drinking coffee to avoid an afternoon crash,
and scroll through social media. After an hour,
I rewatch a show through someone else's tears
and laughter while I sip the coffee cold. Then
when it's time to clean, I vacuum, water a prayer
into the rotting bonsai, do the laundry,
dust the furniture but forget the fan as it spins
for another day, another day like a poem
of clichés, unseen by the lover addressed
and forgotten in the baseboard.
(12-25-2022, 03:47 AM)Velasco Wrote: Again and in between when we converge,
the moment drifts into the distance with the crows,
cawing over breakfast litter in the parking lot
as white-hot time above begins to burn
away the morning dew. I make my bed
with only the necessary folds, let an hour pass
before drinking coffee to avoid an afternoon crash,
and scroll through social media. After an hour,
I rewatch a show through someone else's tears
and laughter while I sip the coffee cold. Then
when it's time to clean, I vacuum, water a prayer
into the rotting bonsai, do the laundry,
dust the furniture but forget the fan as it spins I really like the poem up to here, reminds me a bit of Haruki Murikama, tho he's a novelist.
for another day, another day like a poem of clichés, unseen by the lover addressed and forgotten in the baseboard.
I didn't care for this ending. Hard to explain what it is that is bugging me. Maybe too poetic after the careful detail of the previous lines, too airy, too big a switch to a kind of long simile. Thinking aloud here...
(12-25-2022, 03:47 AM)Velasco Wrote: Again and in between when we converge,
the moment drifts into the distance with the crows,
cawing over breakfast litter in the parking lot
as white-hot time above begins to burn
away the morning dew. I make my bed
with only the necessary folds, let an hour pass
before drinking coffee to avoid an afternoon crash,
and scroll through social media. After an hour,
I rewatch a show through someone else's tears
and laughter while I sip the coffee cold. Then
when it's time to clean, I vacuum, water a prayer
into the rotting bonsai, do the laundry,
dust the furniture but forget the fan as it spins I really like the poem up to here, reminds me a bit of Haruki Murikama, tho he's a novelist.
for another day, another day like a poem of clichés, unseen by the lover addressed and forgotten in the baseboard.
I didn't care for this ending. Hard to explain what it is that is bugging me. Maybe too poetic after the careful detail of the previous lines, too airy, too big a switch to a kind of long simile. Thinking aloud here...
Interesting that it reminds you of Haruki Murakami. I've actually been reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles so that should explain it. As for the ending, I don't really know how else to end it that still gets across the same message. I'm open to suggestions and in the meantime I'll try to think of alternatives.
(01-02-2023, 03:06 AM)Velasco Wrote: Interesting that it reminds you of Haruki Murakami. I've actually been reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles so that should explain it. As for the ending, I don't really know how else to end it that still gets across the same message. I'm open to suggestions and in the meantime I'll try to think of alternatives.
Thank you,
Alex
Rereading it, I think what bothered me was "poem of cliches", particularly the "of cliches". It diminishes the sentiment and adds a sense of disappointment that I don't think belongs.
What about: ......................................a poem, never finished,...........................
Appreciate the suggestion! After a couple re-reads, I did start to notice that “poem of cliches” conveys more disappointment than endearment so I revised accordingly.
[quote="Velasco" pid='262621' dateline='1671907654']
Again and in between when we converge,
the moment drifts into the distance with the crows,
cawing over breakfast litter in the parking lot
as white-hot time above begins to burn
away the morning dew. I make my bed
with only the necessary folds, let an hour pass
before drinking coffee to avoid an afternoon crash,
and scroll through social media. After an hour,
I re-watch a show through someone else's tears
and laughter while I sip the coffee cold. Then
when it's time to clean, I vacuum, water a prayer
into the rotting bonsai, do the laundry,
dust the furniture but forget the fan as it spins for another day, another day likeeach a poem forgottenif you cut 'for' the line can be read two ways
that the baseboard keeps, forever I'm a little confused by 'baseboard'. Same as getting lost under a bed?
unseen by the lover, lost.it exists for. lost referring to poem, lover and the days a they tick on by. alternatively, - lost.
Velasco,
I enjoyed this very much. I made some suggestions at the end for your consideration.
Take care,
steve
