Death is a Slice

[PrinceMyshkin]

Death is a slice
so fine
no one quibbles with it,
slanting down, like rain
on an otherwise level afternoon.

The sun's long reach
is deflected. The last of the morning
hangs, unused, around our feet.

We're caught
in our heart's own
hollow, the white slavery
of waiting for someone else to care.

[Sweets America]

Oh my God, Schwee!!! :banana: :banana: :banana:
When did you give birth to this one?? It is excellent!!!! It is wonderful!! A great imagery! This is one of these poems which would require me to quote the whole as my favorite part! I love it so much.

PS: who said no one quibbled with death? Death hasn't met Sophie yet. :p

[TheFifthElement]

Love this poem Jer, it feels right. Can't say it any other way. I love this part particularly :


slanting down, like rain
on an otherwise level afternoon.

The sun's long reach
is deflected. The last of the morning
hangs, unused, around our feet.

but it is all good.

[SleepyWitch]

I like the second and third stanza best, although "slanting down, like rain
on an otherwise level afternoon" is great, too. :thumbs_up

[1n50mn14]

slanting down, like rain
on an otherwise level afternoon


would have to be my favourite part of the poem.
May I ask what the inspiration is?

[PrinceMyshkin]

slanting down, like rain
on an otherwise level afternoon


would have to be my favourite part of the poem.
May I ask what the inspiration is?

I wrote this too long ago for me to remember although I think that even then I could not have said what the inspiration was. They arrive sometimes in the form of the music in the language; at other times from that subterranean area where so much of our real feelings are enacted, uncensored and unbidden.

[Virgil]

That is outstanding Prince. Wow! It's perfect as a short concise poem, but a thought just occurred to me. What if you expanded it out to include a detailed experience, someone close? It would be a different poem. Of course it need only be an experiment. You can always just go back to this prize of a poem!

[dibyendra]

Death is a slice
so fine
no one quibbles with it,
slanting down, like rain
on an otherwise level afternoon.

The sun's long reach
is deflected. The last of the morning
hangs, unused, around our feet.

We're caught
in our heart's own
hollow, the white slavery
of waiting for someone else to care.


First stanza is the fabulous one. Very well written Pince!



Death is a slice
so fine
no one quibbles with it,
slanting down, like rain
on an otherwise level afternoon.

It gives a vivid picture. Wow! I liked that.

You've such a strong voice which captivates most of the people in the forum. :thumbs_up

[ReynardKitsune]

yes it is a very brilliant work i love it although i don't know much i can only say its awesome!

[PrinceMyshkin]

a thought just occurred to me. What if you expanded it out to include a detailed experience, someone close?

Since I prize the taut economy of it, to do as you suggest might be like tossing a live mackerel to a tight-rope walker.

[ampoule]

The last of the morning
hangs, unused, around our feet.

I can feel the air around my bare feet. I am now tracing my ankles and calves with them.....and men think they have to talk dirty. tee hee hee

[symphony]

While I liked the metaphor of the beginning 2 stanzas very much, I couldnt connect the last stanza to the poem...
Am I stupid?

[PrinceMyshkin]

I can feel the air around my bare feet. I am now tracing my ankles and calves with them.....and men think they have to talk dirty. tee hee hee

Ankles & calves...are PLENTY dirty enough for me!

[AuntShecky]

A different way of looking at it -- as a "slice" instead of a"sting."The "slanting down" sustains the metaphor.

Two quick suggestions-- I would change the passive "is deflected" to "deflects." (No change in meaning; makes the tone more urgent.)
Perhaps a transitional line to connect that problematic final verse paragraph?

[Pendragon]

And someone told me “less is more” while he had this little jewel laying around in his basket of poetry waiting to be dusted off and displayed? How long did this poem yelp "Me! Me!" before you listened to your heart? Wow! Strange that that is the last line of a poem published on my blog long ago called menu: "And hold the slice of cold reality..." Last line for me, first line for you— "Death is a slice"... same meaning: finality is coming!