Young ghosts begging under a lampshade, out there; scratching at the door, trying to get in…
here.
Stay away, young ghosts, hearts ripping, heads splitting, helpless… sympathetic scars shine in dim reflections and invade my delirium with hand-written messages flapping on eyelids that resemble Christmas cookies…
Their hands clench the air, grabbing for ten minutes of future, pulling; I just walk away, mumbling… yet they cling. I swat them, and then I regret it, losing a melon world of color and melted bones in gritty gravel and the forgotten freshness of one-syllable words…
I’d scoop up a dozen or two of them if I could, just to feel the edges still whispering in the new breeze, where hectic and bourbon and stone and silver are still novelties, where in a metal city a clover still offers hope…
A maze of chipped nails and singing cell phones fly in through the shattering windows just as the young ghosts depart, who leave stale chips and rustling magazines strewn across the carpet of a room now without walls to shield me.
At a corner table I mull over a smooth peach and a shriveled, dried prune. I take the peach fuzz and affix it to the dried prune and we dance to a 1920’s tune. I step on a singing cell phone and slip on chipped nails and fall over like a stiff coat rack, then stare blankly up at the young ghosts, who have returned with looks of concern, bless them, though the chip crumbs still dance on their faces.
…and so young ghosts
bet under a lampshade
out there
trying to get in
to here
I bar the door
though I should let them in
for this is their future
they break in anyway
inhale what they can
and leave
I am left mulling
over the forgotten freshness
of one-syllable words
and the associated mindframe
of newness
I dance in abstraction
hoping to gain a ray of light
on my existence
and instead I fall
the young ghosts gather round
and offer what they can
and I ask myself,
what have I given them?
Author notes
To contest host- I feel like I'm crashing a slumber party, but I couldn't resist responding to your 'bored' challenge! The title/idea came to me while reading your favorites (as you suggested), I was thinking how I'd relate to your crowd... they make up a fascinating (though lost to me) world- I couldn't write like that anymore to save my life. This piece actually began as an attempt, but as you may see, my 'adult' poured helplessly through; so in this write I'm coming to terms with it all instead... I know it's not beautiful or boy/girl, but hopefully it might be fascinating in return...
A contest entry
- [[ Prose♥ ]] You are not the reason; by Hell In Harmony.
1400 points, ended October 11, 2007, 27 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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forgotten freshness of one-syllable words…
its beautiful.
confusing.
but beautiful.
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Totally and awesome write...what prose this is... what talent to be able to carry it through... "hand-written messages flapping on eyelids that resemble Christmas cookies…"
and
" At a corner table I mull over a smooth peach and a shriveled, dried prune. I take the peach fuzz and affix it to the dried prune and we dance to a 1920’s tune. I step on a singing cell phone and slip on chipped nails and fall over like a stiff coat rack, then stare blankly up at the young ghosts, who have returned with looks of concern, bless them, though the chip crumbs are still dancing on their faces.
" how tender..how absoutely beautifully tender. I dub you gold!!!!
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Oh, go on! lol
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lol..you did pretty well for Adult humor trying to write for kids ? contest, I know it was hard as I tried,failed miserably lol...ARE we wanna bees? lmao...nice job wbiro,
MM
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thanks, Ms. MM, I have a theory of 'social relativity' (no,
Einstein wasn't whispering in my ear)- that the final part of 'who we are' is relatively dependent on who we're around. So, if you want to be the young person in the crowd, hang around old people...! (or strong/weak weak/strong smart/dumb dumb/smart etc. etc.). So it's good to encounter many different types of people- so you don't get stuck in one mode! (and I'll bet you can guess 'who I was' here, relatively speaking...)
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I just want to know with the smooth peach and the shrivelled prune what you would get if you put them in a wooden vat, took your shoes off and started dancing on them like grapes??? I just love drinking your words lol hic! excuse me but the intoxication of them just goes to my head Love, C
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why you'd get peach-prune cobbler, of course... yummy!
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