Sshh!
I hear it softly, in the quiet-
the whistle for him to stop work.
He is coming home.
I sense him near,
as sensible thoughts
scurry swiftly away
to silent helplessness.
I try to use the dark loneliness,
to erase his clammy smell from the terrors
of my torment.
I tremble with memories of
his tepid stench of breath,
as I await the dreaded fight.
I feel my anxious fidget,
of uncontrolled fear.
I sense untouched moments
of lost affection.
I see blood-red reminders,
on frightened floors.
Compassion and love fly like ghosts,
escaping the inevitable, leaving me to wait,
silently shaking.
Sshh!
I hear it softly, in the quiet-
the whistle to stop work.
© R S Adams Jr
Author notes
With his breath upon me, hope was the only thing I had left. This poem is inspired by true days, now gone.
A contest entry
- Quickie Quote Prompt # 6 by BluesMan.
875 points, ended July 16, 2008, 32 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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My father got sober on my tenth birthday and will be celebrating 40 years of sobriety September 1st But the first ten years of my life were Hell The thousand mile stare in an 8x10 room and a scream that would cut through to the marrow I welcomed the beat
PS This is an annomyous contest and you signed your work
Please try and be more mindful
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Thank you, Wild Bill
Thanks for the HM. Much appreciated. -
my heart goes to you
people may say we learn from these horrors, but it is all bad. Thanks for the comment. Sorry about the oversight.
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Excellent
Such a very inspiring poem for the prompt. So very well done. Best of luck in the contest.
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Wow! Your comments are wonderful. You have felt what I feel. then you have written such a great critique of my poem I feel humble and I am glad that I touched someone.
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Richard,
Your poem is exquisite in the descriptive and terrifying memories you give form to with your choice of words here. As soon as I read the first few lines...
" Sshh!
I hear it softly,
in the quiet-
the whistle to stop work.
He is coming home."
....I feel the fear and dread building as I'm escorted through the collective memories of a difficult time in your life. I find myself tip-toeing almost, through the rest of the poem. I know what it's like to never be certain of what might come next.... 'walking on eggshells' so as not to upset or inspire an ugly tirade... or worse, directed at ourselves.
You have skillfully, I think, involved the senses in this poem... and isn't that exactly how our own memories work?? Very tangible memories are often triggered by a familiar smell or sound. Also the construction and layout of your poem, adds to the dread and foreboding.
Very well done!
Warm regards,
Budderfly~
Edited on May 04, 4:40 because 'typo'. -
Your poem has been removed from our contest because the final judging is taking place. Thank you for entering
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Yes, Ebony, the 'whistle of stop work' is the sound I hear when I know that Dad will soon stop work and come home. Thank you for your critique.
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the quiet whistle to stop work has nothing to do with the fear of the person[your dad] does it/? THE poem is extordinary in form and meaning. I enjoyed the line break and how it build up on the fear factor but the beginnning and ending leave me speachless.
good luck.
Tamara
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