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Clocks, Camels, and Cliffs

Only a select few remember the past,
For the rest it seeps through,
Hardly a draft. 
A bruise nestled deep in the crevices of a peach?
No, no....
A broken pinball machine in bleak,
industrious Philadelphia?
Well, some would say it is
A confectioner etching the excess off a candied treat,
But they seem to be the ones who often wear awfully sharp ties.
Either way,
I dare to infer, that a wave goodbye
Is only loosely equated with open eyes.

A red robin pecking a redwood’s bough?
I do suppose tap-tapping will create music somehow,
But that does not seem to unravel
That shrouded painting hung upon the wall.

Sitting serenely in a white room surrounded by dripping clocks,
Each tick of the viscous pestilence mocks.
The time splurges forth,
Coating the room where presidents sit and talk of
Leaders from long ago.

A steamship sails on by fast,
And I wonder if it is headed to France.
While I sculpt my Parisian dreams,
A valve is tripped by the steam.
A chord is strummed on a blue guitar,
And suddenly tomorrow appears very far.

Distorting my presence,
The Persistence of Memory like a hound dog prowls,
Although it may be assuaged by the stench of midnight howls,
No jewel from a king’s round crown,
Or even a fortress erected upon hallowed ground,
Can contain the happenings of ten years time ago.

A contest entry

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Comments


  • dewfall
    January 26, 2008

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    hmmmm

    it started well, i like a truism and good poetry is about the truth .... i think though that this intention of exploring a concept was clouded a little by stream of consciousness and hung up, stilted by rhyme. i do not say that you lost the thread but it does tangle a bit for me... overall i enjoy the point, and agree with it that memories can hinder one's aspirations, can overtake one's time preferably spent on other things. i liked the line "... but that does not seem to unravel the shrouded painting on the wall.." good luck.


  • Dienush
    January 15, 2008

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    I really like this. It sounds so... philosophical, I might say. I like the style of this poem, how it passes from impersonal to personal, and everything. The title is interesting and a good alliteration. My favorite line was "A bruise nestled deep in the crevices of a peach?" - beautiful. But I liked the whole poem.
    As for the experiment part of the contest, I don't think you were one of the "subjects", were you?
    Anyway, thank you very much for entering.


  • natchstucco
    January 15, 2008
    Edit | Reply
    We record our memories ...both accomplishments and sordid past but never seem to learn from them, war begets war ...well you know the tune. Well thats what I kinda get here but not totally sure. got a little lost . good write all in all. I am just better on the short ones so dont worry.