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Thread: we are a dying season.

  1. #1
    life is but a dream
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    Born in the USSR. Live in NYC.
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    we are a dying season.

    We are a dying season.

    Awry prayers float in the acute air,
    the breath of sleepless autumn
    lank and bare
    like an old ballerina
    pirouetting for the last time in her
    broken music box.

    What do we pray to?

    The pumpkin moon.

    [that fat sucker that bulges through
    each plum October dusk and hangs

    there like someone’s faceless head,
    listening to words that were left unsaid]

    We are all pagans in the end.

    Mama, close the shutters.

    Morning [that wretched sensualist]
    turns on a fire that doesn’t complement
    a charcoal heart.

    Just close them.

    I won’t be able to see in the dark?

    I already do.

    We are a dying season.
    I only wanted to live in accord with the promptings that came from my true self. Why was that so very difficult?

  2. #2
    Springing Riesa's Avatar
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    holograph,
    an excellent piece,
    I could almost pick out every line to quote, they were all great. but these are my top favorites:

    Awry prayers float in the acute air
    like an old ballerina
    pirouetting for the last time in her
    broken music box.
    The pumpkin moon.

    [that fat sucker that bulges through
    each plum October dusk and hangs
    oh, I love that pumpkin moon.

    We are all pagans in the end.
    and I love the ending,

    I won’t be able to see in the dark?

    I already do.

    We are a dying season.
    resigned with an ominous clarity which is rather chillingly sombre, a perfect October poem.
    "Don't matter who they are, anybody sets foot in this house, they are company and don't let me catch you remarking on their ways like you were so high and mighty."

  3. #3
    Sweet farewell, Good Nite
    Join Date
    Oct 2005
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    I agree with Reisa, this is one of my favorite from you, definitely. you love communing with the dark, I see. ...interesting.

    The pumpkin moon.

    [that fat sucker that bulges through
    each plum October dusk and hangs

    .....delicious

    I have mixed feelings about the title and as first line, although i love how it rounds off the poem. i dunno, i just dunno holo molo...my head aches, my stomach grumbles, i need some sleep, but the poems, the Poems!

    hey holo molo...take notice of my new quote. no more mimicrying from you now, ya hear?!!
    Last edited by jon1jt; 10-12-2006 at 08:37 PM.
    "He was nauseous with regret when he saw her face again, and when, as of yore, he pleaded and begged at her knees for the joy of her being. She understood Neal; she stroked his hair; she knew he was mad."
    ---Jack Kerouac, On The Road: The Original Scroll

  4. #4
    life is but a dream
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    whoa. thanks riesa and jon. this was just a draft. i really appreciate it.

    riesa, i love it too. october happens to be my favorite month, and when i saw the huge orange moon that pops out every once in a while in brooklyn, i was overwhelmed with feeling and i wrote this.

    jonny, change one letter in "birches" and you have a completely different quote. and the title isnt the first line, i just had to give it a title for posting purposes. i dont have any titles for my work. i think the poem can introduce itself. thanks man.
    I only wanted to live in accord with the promptings that came from my true self. Why was that so very difficult?

  5. #5
    Sweet farewell, Good Nite
    Join Date
    Oct 2005
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    2,336
    whoa. thanks riesa and jon. this was just a draft. i really appreciate it.

    ...just a draft? holy gamoli!

    jonny, change one letter in "birches" and you have a completely different quote.

    Hmmm. i like that one---

    and the title isnt the first line, i just had to give it a title for posting purposes. i dont have any titles for my work. i think the poem can introduce itself. thanks man.

    You're getting all Emily Dickenson on me now dude.
    Last edited by jon1jt; 10-13-2006 at 01:40 AM.
    "He was nauseous with regret when he saw her face again, and when, as of yore, he pleaded and begged at her knees for the joy of her being. She understood Neal; she stroked his hair; she knew he was mad."
    ---Jack Kerouac, On The Road: The Original Scroll

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