it stared blind white
never blinking
floating in alcohol plasma
and said nothing
turning slow and slow
under light bulb glare
yellow, red, and blue
like insects burning
in the summer gloom
so hot the trees sweat
with peeled dead eyes
looking and never seeing
dreaming and circling
as dark old men
swaying in tree rhythm
speak in reverent whispers
like dry paper rustling and
toss furtive ivory eyeballs at it
like dusky jugglers
hands folded, knuckles
clicking and flexed
tobacco brown grasshoppers
timed to cricket chirp
and frog sob
tent peggers
backlit on canvas
smoking, laughing
pulling up stakes
the thing in the jar
placed with the others
carried off on diesel fumes,
the lights of another
drowsy town shrinking
like dying stars
Author notes
Picture provided by: the atlantic
A contest entry
- keep it close by the atlantic.
1750 points, ended November 10, 2008, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Good god, Garrison-- It's a horrible, sad scientific view going with a common process of judgement-- and all still so beautiful; I'm not sure how you did that. "pedestrian"- meh, anything but. I love this more than the opening scene to Macbeth lol- totally irrelevant. The whole thing reeks, in a great, vivid way. I like this side of you. This pungent edge to the still bright starlight--
"so hot the trees sweat"- priceless rhythm
"with peeled dead eyes
looking and never seeing"
The opening shows nature taken out of it's element, merge with the sublte comparisons to insects ect.- smoothly done. And the last stanza is brilliant, it's revelations so concrete.
Scrunity of nature, categorized and made to seem disgusting under artificial lights, crazy culturally-learned modern expectations and comparisons to genetic modification? The complex "thing in the jar" destined for dim cities and crude human analysis. -I'm know that's way off.
Whatever it is, it's very well done.
It's the perfect balance. Again, I admire the rhythm, shadows and reality. All the kind of grossness of my style done with the sensical beauty and connected imagery and meanigful depths o' yours.
Know that when I say I love something, I mean it regardless of my personal, ambiguous. . weird interpretations-- I keep those separate.
Good metaphor. . in a jar and beyond.
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"as dark old men
swaying in tree rhythm
speak in reverent whispers
like dry paper rustling"
I simply loved those lines; the images they create, the rhythms, the mood... such a mysterious and atmospheric write this is, Garrison and so expertly delivered!
~ Nicolette
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I like the title.
the first stanza tells me It's some kind of specimen. maybe a sea creature caught in the glare of artificial lights.
the second one places it in a street carnival or maybe it's in a garden because of all the natural references. but i see a lot of action happening
dark old men
swaying in tree rhythm
toss ivory eyeballs
that's an ominous image ( halloween hangover? lol)
the last one gives a beautiful image of silouettes . the circus act folds and i can see those overloaded trucks leaving.
love the last three lines.
so what is "it" ?
it's a story riddle and I love it .
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