It was not to hurt too much
to set such gravity aside,
days that pass sweetly
the old man climbing the stone step-
as yet they must be so-
the keys used for the old door
clanking
on his hips
like coins too heavy to bear.
Vespers
the bells are muffled by distance;
in the parchments are words
shuffled they may become
legions, an essence of nether worlds,--
in the rafters the pigeons stare uncertainly
certain of the bond
that the old man scratches at,
the keys tossed on the old table
on which the parchments lie.
Author notes
Part 3, Sorrowful Beings
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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I like running into your poems on featured once in awhile. They're interesting and they have a prospective that's a lot like a soft eye. If that makes any sense. I like the part of the keys because it makes me think of the janitors at school back in the day with their huge thing of keys that made a lot of racket as they walked. lol You did a good job here.
. Rewarded 9
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again, wonderful poem! i love your poetic voice and im glad you do not sound like everyone else. you have a great way with imagery that i enjoy so much. However, u did ask for constructive criticism, ad i will do just that.
The only thing i found to be a problem for me was this stanza:
"in the rafters the pigeons stare uncertainly
certain of the bond"
I feel for the sake of the reader, you should use a comma between --in the rafters & --the pigeons stare uncertainly
certain of the bond
besides that, you have a well written poem here that really captures the readers If this was in a book of poetry, the book would be worth while to own just for this gem alone. Much love
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Somehow wonder if the close up shot would be more of the parchment than the man himself, because we'd strain to see what is written and what makes him thus. This is blossoming slowly and gives one a need to read more.
C
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A movie yes...this is the beginning.
What arcane mysteries lie in those penned lines and is the monk really as old as he looks?...is he Barry Fitzgerald or not?
let us know Lute...soon
lovely setting...I see a Greek Monastery
why?
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parchments full of corrector lime
carry an erratic look
their secret
gurgled in lead pipes
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its good i liked it. it made me feel like i was there and heard and see all of it.
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clever poem written..both dark and whispering light.
(I don't think you need the words "are" in your poem...
it doesn't disturb the flow to take them out either.)
lovely layers and textures in this poem, I bet we all read
it twice to closely hear it's message....
within parchments words...
shuffled they may become
legions, an essence of nether worlds
(neither worlds)
unless you really wanted legions as the word,
which represents ....a hoard of manic spirits of hell..
i'm not sure if you did or not..??
but interesting words are alternative choices
http://thesaurus.reference.com/browse/legion
and for angel:
http://thesaurus.reference.com/browse/angel
the combination of the two choices...
could really add another dark and glowing layer.
I typically don't go into this type of editing depth,
but you ask for it in your author notes...so please
don't bite me for simply doing what you ask.
actually..
I adore this poem...and a few touches here and there,
would truly make it MAGNIFICENT to BEHOLD!
ears/Seattle
honestly, I truly marvelled at this poem!
. Rewarded 8
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I feel like the heaviness is caused by the want to die, whereas the old man has been in this world for so long and the angels are calling him home. Great job empasizing this. Maybe i'm wrong though?
I look forward to reading the next few segements of this series
Best regards,
Holly
comments are returned.
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A very vivid scene. i could hear the heaviness.
Well done.
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i love how you do line breaks, that ease into the story
not sure you need to repeat 'old'? as you have, but i don't have any other answer just yet as my critiquing skills are low right now..
but i do like this poem old man, get your old hips moving and go for a walk
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Nothing of seclusion and of wall ...
could take away the memories of her.
He wrote exactly what he saw and felt.
Of course there was a bond
so fragile in his harsh mortality of sob
but strong:
A song forever sung
with endless hum ...
without a stop.
Yet in his heart there was a vision soft:
the knowing that not maze
nor cloister door
could cut to separate
their moment shared
before the Fall.
He listened while he prayed.
She then arrived
with rustling sound ...
And he was safe.
Myra
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Yay. You write.
This is a small movie. I see it. Hear the keys, the shuffle of feet -- the staring pigeons.
Yes. You have this ability to write movies with your words. And look -- nothing unnecessary or overdone.
Odd first line. What is he searching for in that parchment? It feels like something he already knows.
You should write the next part soon. I'm waiting.
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