...where the company is stimulating, the scenery is fascinating, and even the seats are comfortable. We seem to have left the station a little early this week. What am I saying? We weren't actually supposed to leave until next week -- but our wanderlust is such, we couldn't resist a little joyride. We would push the bus ourselves, if we couldn't get the engine running.
Fortunately, there's no need for that. This bus is humming, and TFE is at the wheel. He showed us three photos, and suggested that we use them to inspire our poems. The photo that caught my eye was the third one (third photo, not third eye).
I suppose this is as good a time as any to confess that my eyes don't work very well, any of them. The photo, as I saw it, brought to mind hoarding. When I went back just now to confirm that it was in fact the third photo, I enlarged it, for some reason. Oh.my.god. That photo isn't about hoarding at all. It's about desolation and the hope of redemption and...oh, well. This is what I wrote about hoarding. ;>)
Cling to the memories, girl -
hoard them; hold them
close beside your body
while you weep, while you sleep.
Inhale the heady fragrance of them,
rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye,
caress the tattered softness
of their flannelette skin.
Never let them go, girl,
they bind you, they blind you
to your filed away and folded
and circumscribed life.
14 comments:
Nicely captures a specific mental state. So much so, reading it brought back memories of memories. Poignant.
Sandra, I love the fact that you looked at the photo that first time and saw this.
And the poem itself is a blinder - those two final lines are stunning. The whole mood is closed. Tight work.
Dominic's word poignant is right--but very good writing--the "flannelette" line just as one example. Very good throughout.
Wonderful poem! I may have to check out the TFE site.
This is a fine poem and does it matter that you didn't see what it actually was straight away? It's got your personal stamp on it and it's a good 'un.
I really liked:
rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye,
caress the tattered softness
of their flannelette skin.
I love the teddy bear from the previous post too - and a great charity and reason for buying the bear.
Lovely poem, Sandra.I'm glad you saw the picture his way,it go t a great result.Something sad almost tragic about it as there is with real life hoarders.you capture this so well.Love these closing lines with the noose necked conclusion..
'caress the tattered softness
of their flannelette skin.
Never let them go, girl,
they bind you, they blind you
to your filed away and folded
and circumscribed life.'
Deadly! Tanks ye Sandra.
short, sweet and all the things i like. nice one!
How we cling to the tatters of our lives with those tangible pieces left behind. I, like Titus (I believe) am amazed at all of the diverse and unrepeated interpretations of this image.
Good evening, folks, and thanks for stopping by. Dominic, I hope the memories of memories weren't too disturbing. Titus, having old eyes can sometimes work in one's favour.
Thank you, all of you - Dominic, John, Titus, Bagman and Butler (do check out the site!) Wigeon, TFE,swiss, and Poetikat.
I must go quickly now, to lay out my dress for Willow's ball.
I enjoyed this very much,fragile emotions cocooned in flannelette, a fabric not in big demand at Willow's at the moment.I still haven't found the perfect pair of shoes and time's running out!
Pam, I found mine online by googling "dancing shoes". The internet is a wonderful thing.
"...your filed away and folded
and circumscribed life." What a beautiful and sad description. This is an image I shall remember.
By the time you read this, the ball will be another memory. I really enjoyed this one Sandra. It's so important to have that flexibility in our very orderly lives, isn't it?
We do bind ourselves to the inanimate, don't we? This poem really catches that. I'm glad you (mis)read the photo this way.
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