downstairs they are playing:
good times in the house with the swings
where there is always music in the air
catching sunlight in auras
held in the spin of their hair.
lying in bed I listen to
musicians making good sounds
coming from the street
down a sad row of houses
too caught up in the modern world
and the choices they made
just to survive.
freezing moments in time
the best that I can
going downstairs,
never leaving my bed,
I live in the lives of others
dancing their bare feet over
dark wood floors
as someone lets the sun
in the house.
past lives living in the walls
the room where they all come to meet
drifting between the dust motes
carefully watching each other eye to eye
moving and not stirring the air
to follow broken dreams.
patiently waiting for the end of the world
and the laughter riding high in a swing
lying still and listening to everything
they all used to be what I am now –
it’s so good to be alive
and very little has changed
since we all died.
In a list
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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this has a wonderful & haunting twist at the end...love it, don't know how i missed it, found it on anesthesia's page=)
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I've kept returning to this, now and then. . now at your mention of a seemingly linear life. I realize you've probably nearly forgotten writing it, normal thoughts (but you know what I think of it. . maybe not). It is perfect, and in such clarity. There are indeed no better, or more complete perceptions. Every aspect you've defined and every word is irreplaceable. It speaks with an understanding above entity, what's pondered- from that knowing distance; but still so close, sensitively from within humanity. . From a view which I'm sure is unique to you. Besides-there's also my strange. . . slightly nonsensical reaction to its brilliance as textured, melodic poetry. Though "textured" may be too a shallow word. I suppose I meant surreal in it's beauty. . . and the entirity of it's approach. . effect-- it is, in meaning, very real. . bleak, essential truths- within the depths.
So, I am a little "high on it" lol . . perhaps to a weird extent, partly because "I live in the lives of others" and the following couple of lines, are half the the basis of what I relate to. I know, that doesn't quite make sense. The absence of something cannot form a basis, more its source. I won't go on about that here. . or the odd distance when it comes to feeling like a part of life. . . or my lack of any real sense of self and funny little resulting inner conflicts. lol. You must find me quite overzealous.
These comments are always missing something- usually that I'm not aware of, and I don't attempt to make them whole----
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Came to this poem from A n e s t h e s ia's page where she recommended it. Definitely can see why she's so high on it, it's a beautiful piece!!
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it’s so good to be alive
and very little has changed
since we all died.
Yes, I could go on and on. This is simply top form, perfect prose, and I am in love with it. the end is just awesome.
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The tone of this piece is quite intriguing, the imagery allows room for thought to flow freely. The concept here is quite unique in itself.
"lying in bed I listen to
musicians making good sounds
coming from the street
down a sad row of houses
too caught up in the modern world
and the choices they made
just to survive."
.. the last part of that struck me the most - for there is so much we take forgranted, all too hurried to stop and simply listen ..
"patiently waiting for the end of the world
and the laughter riding high in a swing
lying still and listening to everything
they all used to be what I am now –
it’s so good to be alive
and very little has changed
since we all died."
.. a great poignancy to be pondered here, a meaning woven within another depth for poetic consumption ..
Very well penned!
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Awesome in so many ways!
But there are two aspects which I truly admire in your poetry:
Firstly, your blueprint by now: the wondrous melodic and visual way in which you string words:
catching sunlight in auras
held in the spin of their hair
and:
the laughter riding high in a swing
lying still and listening to everything
Superb!
Secondly, the way in which you become all, and all become you ... not only through the eye of the poet, but the intense fusion of the true healer ... Outside of theory, time, space, yet: also acutely part of the here and the now in observation, understanding and expression.
And thirdly, the wondrous paradox of discovery in almost all of your exit lines, as illustrated in this poem also, and in these words:
it’s so good to be alive
and very little has changed
since we all died.
It holds acceptance and a subdued smile within the subtle melancholy. Perfect.
Love
Myra
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Wonderful poetry, Garrison.. it touches on both the surreal and the real. I liked the sense of distance here, yet at the same time the sense of being a part of, of closeness, of identification. Great observations about life here too - totally through-provoking, especially those closing lines. Great work.
~ Nicolette
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I admire the hell out of this. ..You get the idea.
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"past lives living in the walls
the room where they all come to meet
drifting between the dust motes
carefully watching each other eye to eye
moving and not stirring the air
to follow broken dreams."
Amazing beyond expression.
It has the rhythm of a bone-dry apocalyptic dance. It's also very close to home only with the divide of a surrealist trap. Very vivid, constant movements...there's something of perpetual insomnia to it...to me anyway.
You've captured the tense shifting ash after a dead modern structure. Polished dereliction... beyond any comment.
Brilliant as usual. Garrison, I'll be reading this again. ...far more than dreamlike.
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