Poetic Debris

[Sweets America]

It creeps around, here and there,
on the walls, in her veins,
in the food she digests,
it dances and waves,
the sick light of the candle.

At times voices whisper it’s going to wear out,
but it’s not ― not yet.
And she wonders who could be so kind as to blow it away
and leave her in the dark, where she would
sweep the crumbs of her dislocated psyche
and flee towards fresh dreams...

But it melts, the wax, it melts and it sticks and it burns
what’s left of her worn-out body ―
though never completely.

This is not a bad dream, she hears,
this is only summers the way they’ve turned
yellowish, like the old snapshot of your life, sunburnt,
and she knows we all stand under the glance
of the same sky; It casts its sandy eye
all over our incurable hearts.

Prisoner in a room, she spends her days
chewing over clichés,
like the moon and the stars
and the compromised meaning of promises dissolved in the air.
She still imagines,
for sure, their poetic debris must hide suspended somewhere.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Welcome back! You've been away too long with your poems, about which I must say, you have your own strong and vivid voice. I was intending to quote some of my favourite lines, but it would have been practically every one here.

And despite our frequent, candid conversations, I had no idea that this one was brewing nor any awareness of the mood it reflects.

[SleepyWitch]

Sweets, I love the last two stanzas!
but the third one could do without the it-verb-comma-the-noun thingy ;)

it melts, the wax,, because that repeats the structure in the first stanza. I find this structure awkward enough in itself, but in the first stanza it's OK because It.... and the sick light of the candle are separated by so many other lines. but in the third stanza it sticks out like a sore thumb

[Sweets America]

Sweets, I love the last two stanzas!
but the third one could do without the it-verb-comma-the-noun thingy ;)
, because that repeats the structure in the first stanza. I find this structure awkward enough in itself, but in the first stanza it's OK because It.... and the sick light of the candle are separated by so many other lines. but in the third stanza it sticks out like a sore thumb

Thanks. :) You know what? I had not even realized that there was a repetition of the syntax in those two stanzas. :p
But...I like my 'it melts, the wax' because it insists on it. I think that if I wrote 'but the wax melts and sticks and burns', I would lose that suffocating thing that I had in the first version. I wonder. A sore thumb? :D
I prefer the last two stanzas as well.

Thanks Prince for your sweet comment. :)

[ampoule]

Be sure and see your bloggy blog. ;)

[ShadowFire]

Prisoner in a room, she spends her days
chewing over clichés,
like the moon and the stars
and the compromised meaning of promises dissolved in the air.
She still imagines,
for sure, their poetic debris must hide suspended somewhere.

I like this stanza the best. Imagination is the only thing some of the trapped have. But I question....debris is waste...is poetry waste?...I took it more that poetic debris of being pieces and parts of poems...like unfinished ones or a few lines or words with feeling just not clear yet. Which ever way I like the last stanza. Keep up the good work.

[islandclimber]

I love the last two stanzas.,. this is really quite amazing... I love the imagery brought forth by simile and metaphor.. the summer, yellowish like an old snapshot of your life, and the sandy eye of the sky, incurable hearts, chewing over cliches, imagining poetic debris hiding suspended somewhere... it is really quite beautiful and quite forlorn and melancholy it seems... or that is the feeling I get from it... melancholy with a faint ray of hope for something better.... but who knows, maybe it will never come... melancholy can be such a beautiful emotion and it is in poetry like this we find that out...

cheers:)

[asilef73]

some excellent imagery. this in particular:

This is not a bad dream, she hears,
this is only summers the way they’ve turned
yellowish, like the old snapshot of your life, sunburnt,
and she knows we all stand under the glance
of the same sky; It casts its sandy eye
all over our incurable hearts.


well done.

[Pendragon]

Love your last stanza! "promises dissolved in the air" is an excellent discription of broken promises! And just the whole of the poem as "poetic debris", like these are things you just tossed out there carelessly, yet they landed in a form pleasing to the eye and sounding well to the ear! An accidential masterpiece! Way to go, Sweets!

But I for one, never believe in accidents nor coincidence. I am sure you worked hard on the poem and made it into what it is, a wonderful little masterpiece! Great job! :thumbs_up

[Sweets America]

Thank you very much for your very nice comments, really that warms up my little heart.
ShadowFire, my poetic debris refer to what is left of past promises, they were beautiful at first and in the end all that is left is something dusty, something which once had been poetic but is not anymore.

I'm happy you all enjoyed this poem.

Pen, you're right, I worked hard on this one. It started totally differently from what it became afterwards. It's as if some thing needed to be written despite the efforts I made in the beginning to write something else. But i'm happy with the result.