last night, a nightwalk down the twisting runners path
clouds, the accumulated wealth of ground sweat-
the water was the only thing light enough to be lifted.
its the only life that stays with the stubborn sky.
birds are often assholes.
the moon feels cold to me,
a curve against un-eternal light.
and under each lonely footstep
there lies more sound proof ill never quite
walk into the sky.
i used to be afraid of that.
riverside chats with the babble of morning
when you hold your ear close to the ground,
you realize
sound requires little reverence;
it sticks to the world parasitically.
we are the only unnatural noise in all of the cosmos.
im not sure why
little lovergirls always complain
that im too quiet.
they never seem to connect the dots:
silence is the symphony of their God,
the echo of infinity.
A contest entry
- enter your best piece on the site. (favorites only) by heaven all alone.
400 points, ended November 20, 15 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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If I were younger you would break my heart. LOL
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Palkowski has the effect of making others feel like nothing else anyone says would be worthy ... which is why it took me as long as it has to just say:
"Dude. You're hot shit."
'cause, this is fucking good.
The water already feels goddamn heavy.
"birds are often assholes." It's like irrelevantly offhand and the most relevant thing.
"i used to be afraid of that."
Yush.
'riverside'
That word is sex, somehow. Just innately poetic.
"we are the only unnatural noise in all of the cosmos."
Oh man. If I'm an expert at anything, it's knowing what I like ... and I fucking LOVE this.
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now if i could just force myself to get something new written. my brain keeps shutting off
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Brilliant, as always.
My mind always drifts away as I read your poems, I don't feel like I am reading, your poems just create a scene, an atmosphere, in my head.
Excellent.
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excellentt!
This is a really nice piece
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to me, the piece grew exponentially. the beginning was rambling at about my waist but the ending busted through the ceiling.
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hopefully the next one will start on the roof and rocket off into uncharted territory
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Your narrative here, when incorporating these short precise statements, is rather flawless.
"the water was the only thing light enough to be lifted."
The innocuous way this seems to slot in is impressive; considering how it changes and challenges the very scenery which was developed briefly in your opening. This segment has major significance for all humanity: the water, a constant reminder of past is all which clings to the sky. It is this very conspectus which frames our future, while at the same time remaining the letter unsent. Refraining, to paraphrase frost's aphorism: "i took the road less trodden", this notion of different life is what our whole existence depends, despite not having any indication or recognition of it's existence. Thinking of past lovers, past scenery, past shop windows; to paraphrase again, Nietzsche in Zarathustra, "You great star what would your happiness be had you not those for whom you shine"- What if i took the path MOST trodden, what would my happiness be?
Birds mentioned in such a derogatory fashion seems very Hitchcockian. I envisioned the birds having this grotesque placement; almost like capricious ghouls readily invading the real.
"ill never quite walk into the sky."
Amorous here is the hopelessness of such a phrase. I can never redesign nor step in to nirvana. Even more confessional- sound, in this poem, plays the role of vanishing mediator. Sound which is created under footsteps in the first selection confirms for the narrator he wont make it & incites fear. However in the ending half, Sound, which lives independent of all life has taken the role of the birds. The parasite lamella; the dis-attached hand in Un chien andalou. The sound has became irrelevant "assholes" and has no effect on the narrator, he understands the alien and by this very dismissal sound seems to diminish completely from the poem in to soft spoken words and silence. This silence seems to almost put at peace, not only the narrator but the reader.
"we are the only unnatural noise in all of the cosmos."
Confirms himself as the foreign intruder in this autonomous organ: the world.
Our noise is the scene in City Lights where Charlie Chaplin digests a whistle by mistake. After, the character gets bouts of hiccups. The movement of air within his stomach leads each hiccup to secrete as a whistle, creating abnormal noises from the very inside of the body. This is us in essence, the voice, this alien presence.
Sorry if this is an essay & i went in the wrong direction completely but i really liked this one regardless. I also love how you entered a fresh write in to this contest. I found it extremely bad ass
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no need to be sorry. im flattered.
you by no means went awry. in fact, most of what you mentioned has been jumping around in my head over the last three days or so. if anything your analysis was eerily accurate. hahaha.
i just cant bring myself to enter prewrites anymore. i refuse to believe what ive written is any better than what i can write. and i cant stand getting an entry thats also in a hundred thousand other contests.
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dhonnobad
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i didn't have to say anything?
i would write a bigger essay than mike if you wouldn't thank me.
just for the record, this is by far your best work.
want the essay now? -
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nah. i just want you to be on gtalk in an hour. im about to go back up town.
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i already knew... hehe. i am there
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