These are the days of rancid minutes—
Of moments that are rotting beside a brown, bitten apple
beneath some scolded child’s bed.
Sometimes, if I pause
between the hard, jackboot rhythm
of an angst-ridden, pop song
and the flurry of tip-tapping fingers,
then I can possibly see my heart
beating quickly in my stomach,
dancing like a fleshy boom-box
or a hamster, befuddled,
in a dark cage.
But luckily the television is turned up too loud
and it’s bright, catchy, engaging…
otherwise I’d rot faster.
Another sour core in the apple graveyard
beneath some scolded child’s bed.
Author notes
I'm anxious!
Please drive a bus
Comments
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OH MY GOSH! Brilliance! I FELT this piece. Your style is so within my taste. Do you want me to make a line citation of which i held in high favor? Because I couldn't. This poem is too amazing to be taken apart. The ending...oh my gosh...the middle, no wait! The beginning! So well done! Also, love your profile. It's a lark! you already know it, but I'll praise you anyway: You are phenomenal!
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Oh .. forgot to say - your new profile is absolutely hilarious, love your sense of humour
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Freckle,
It seems that a bout of 'the blues' has inspired another great piece of wordcraft from you.
There are some absolute gems in here - 'rancid moments', 'a hamster, befuddled' and the repeated analogy of the sour core 'beneath some scolded child's bed'.
The final stanza, with your boredom and anxiety scowling and pouting your words at us; TV, soma-for-the-soul, providing your temporary salvation, works to end with a wry smile.
On a deeper level, this image, and the whole write, paints a sombre picture of a world which leaves intelligent young people starved of inspiration, offering only a diet of the kitsch of regurgitated repetitive rhythms and trite lyrics, and the glittering but soulless 'box-in-the-corner'.
Great write - I hope the gloom is short-lived
PJ
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