“I have often wondered how it is that every man loves himself more than all the rest of men, but yet sets less value on his own opinion of himself than on the opinion of others.” The Meditations – Book Twelve By Marcus Aurelius 167 AD.
I thought of you in Vernon
Its streets tumble down
towards a nostalgic emptiness
where curlews look as if cool drinks
are being sipped through a straw.
No two people are the same
yet there remains
a hideous similarity in many of us –
especially you
and your dozy spouse
who could be twins
despite wearing those ludicrous ten gallon hats
that people with a modicum taste
wouldn’t be seen dead in.
A linchpin to all history-
How the Roman Empire rose
and how it subsequently fell;
for within that template are all histories,
and all peoples...
even you with the funny hats.
We don’t see ourselves as history.
We see ourselves as eternal
in which we alone rule.
It’s then an alarm chainsaws our thoughts,
a bill tighten our sphincter
or we have to tolerate some arsehole
on a higher pay scale
who distracts us with a gross abuse of time
and cascading nasal hair.
Linda looked at me
but today lost opportunities hung from her
like penance.
Her eyes are dry and bitter,
wrapped in unwashed mascara,
shielding her face,
turning Hong Kong into a piercing afternoon sun,
“He hasn’t made me laugh for such a long, long time.”
We rise and we fall.
We rise on strength, on hope, and on purpose.
We fall on mistakes and ultimately defeat.
Maybe they bookend love and laughter.
Maybe they just bookend.
I thought of you in Vernon:
Remembering how light shimmered on Okanagan Lake
as we ate peaches,
laughing as the juice ran down our arms.
No day was as beautiful as this;
as if no life was as blessed.
We made love on a Robert The Bruce tartan rug.
I was stung on my arse
by a rabid bee just as I was cumming.
Quite frankly Marquis De Sade would have loved it.
Curlews looked around
and wondered the joke.
A contest entry
- Make it New for 2008 by cvillelisa.
1000 points, ended January 24, 2008, 10 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 17 of 17
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BOO!
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I read through this several times and gleaned something different with each read. What strikes me most is your observation that we don’t see ourselves as history. Never used to give it much thought, honestly, until I had a chat with a neighbor and discovered he’d stormed the beach at Normandy. My perspective changed and now everyone, even my fidiot co-worker who snorts loudly when he laughs, seems to fit into the larger frame of existence -- somehow. I really enjoyed reading this poem and the way it made my little brain tick over… thank you for that.
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I don't think that was a "rabid bee" at all but please don't ask me what I think. I've been placating being a lady lately. 53 years of age has it quirks. LOL I like that fact that this poem shares one similarity in particular, no two...I hate those ten gallon hats and making love on a rug sound delightful.
Congratulations on winning the Bronze Cup here my dear friend.
Much Love ♥
Renee
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I have some suggestions for tightening this baby up some which I'll share after I close the fucker. Sorry it has taken me so long to comment - ever since the Nipple Episode (See Policy Board) I have lost my verve for much of AP. However spending a bit of Saturday morning reading this has made me grin some and even feel a bit of restorative medicine.
I can't place my finger on the familiarity but it is here -- I was talking with my best friend last night about how that is probably why the Waste land is so important to us - Eliot makes us all feel a familiar internal empitness even when surrounded by humanity (your line about the hideous similarity for me sings that same flat, note - somehow, yes, hideous).
This floats between time in the cracks (of arses and curlews). I wonder, if this wouldn't be a good piece of prose - I wouldn't fee the need to chop some places I suspect if it was a prose piece but I do feel the need to cut it if it stays poem). You might consider looking at it in the prose format just for grins.
I have to say, this one has really grown on me.
Lisa
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Heehee magnifique.
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LOL....stung at the moment of release. Oh..what joy in the timing...the mechanisms of the Universe are most strange indeed.
This is limbo. A hot unwashed stasis of being -- Purgatory upon the edge of nowhere...and yet...everywhere.
Love the imagery and the tone of this. It is both here..and not here.
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You sure it was a bee? It may have been a tiny, tiny man with an enormous erection (well, on scale) trying to get in on the action. Did he get you right on the ring, or what? That's not venom, that's spew!
There certainly are a lot of good po-ho-hoems in this contest. That cascading nasal hair bit hit a bit close to home, if you know what I mean. I need to embark on a grooming session, and soon. Might even give the old stinger a shave, if time permits.
Do people wash mascara? How? I don't understand "unswashed mascara"
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I'm sorry I didn't comment the first time I was here.
I love the story this poem tells, and lines 51 and 52. Very funny.
Also I appreciate your observation that today some of us think we are eternal, we don't think about our actions, and how it will affect history.
Again, sorry about not commenting the first time, I appologize if I offended you. -
Hey did you see that story that broke here in the UK today about twins separated at birth who inadvertantly married each other?
I often watch the people, especially the ones that I, in my arrogance consider ludicrous, think of their place in the loop that we call history, how they define themsleves in that context - but they don't- they don't see history, they think they are eternal. That was a brilliantly put observation. You always know when something is a brilliant observation, because when you read it, you know that you always knew that.
So you dared to eat peaches and got stung on the arse by a bumble bee at the high point of the 'root'. You see, that's what happens when you are still okay about eating peaches.
I was once passing a tent on a battle re-enactment campsite in Scotland. People were dressed in Jacobite plaids and hairy things because that was the era we were re-enacting. I knew who was in the tent, which made the visual that accompanied the moans and squeals and grunts all the more poignant. The drunken ecstacy of sex, when reaching crescendo terminated with a rasping fart and a roar to cover the embarrassment of the faux pas of 'fuck, I've been bitten by one of those fruit bat mozzies .'
Anyway, yes, there is little that is new but fresh beginnings of the interminable cycles.
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It is good, I believe.. alot of the words I do not understand though.
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good job
enjoyable read
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I often wonder how you can make a sensual piece of poetry suddenly turn into humor yet not let go of the sensuality? A gift I suspect lol. May I humbly suggest you meant piercing rather than piecing?? Oh and tightens our sphincter, such a curious word for a part of anatomy but used with effect here. Well done I actually enjoyed it you know Love, C
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Must have been "pierced" when I was proof reading it. Good pick up and comment. Thanks
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Beautiful poem - I loved the way you described everything. Bastard bees, he-he-he. Okanagan Lake is amazing in the summer, though I must admit, I haven't seen it from Vernon. But Penticton is amazing, just amazing - all year round. I swear there isn't better peaches, anywhere in the world.
Good write! You local BC'ian you! -
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I live in a small place called melbourne, just south of Vernon.
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Priceless... this is very well conceived and written. Best of luck in the contest.
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