Life as a Doorknob

[breathtest]

I have dead spiders on my walls,
They’re crushed into the white paint, their
Blood staining the whiteness
Of the white paint,
Their abdomens no more than
Rotten, dried liquid, their
Legs (those remaining) curled over
Like gnarled fingers trying to
Clutch at something as big as
A doorknob, maybe that thing
Is life. Maybe in their final act
These little creatures
Were reaching out and clutching
Life and maybe they found it,
Who’s to say they didn’t? I am certainly
Uncertain that this is life, what we call life is
Life, is it life? It is something,
But life? Really?

[Jerrybaldy]

Spiders legs clutching at life in death? What is life? Loved it BT.
BW
JB

[Alexander III]

I must say I really like your poetry Breath, I think you have talent

[PrinceMyshkin]

This was simultaneously amusing (in a gristly way) and philosophically interesting: "Life as a doorknob"! Brilliant concept.

[hack]

The living come in all sizes and flavors.
Life is one size fits all. I like this a lot.

[breathtest]

Thank you all very much.

[Maryd.]

Yes, breathtest... Loved it. Do you want my son's spider... He's only as big as my hand at the moment... But he's growing.

[breathtest]

hahaha, Mary you are funny, do you know why?
Because i am probably more scared of spiders than anybody! I have been known to squeal in the presence of a house spider. The inspiration for this poem actually came because i live by a canal, and for some reason that means we get more spider's in the house than we used to. Every night there're at least two crawling around on my walls. I imagined that they were all dead, squished into the wall and that led to a quick rant about life. Naturally.

And by the way, how big will that spider grow, and please don't say the size of a person's head, because my imagination will go wild.

[Maryd.]

I have tiny hands... It will grow the size of an adult male hand. Then I'll pop around and stash it in your bed... Hahahahahaaa

[breathtest]

I hope you realize, Mary, that you have just robbed me of at least three nights sleep!

But i will have the last laugh because you don't know where i live. hahahaha

[blank|verse]

You had me up to 'is life' (line 11), where I think the poem should end.

What comes after should be left blank, for the reader to consider for themselves. You've led them down this philosophical path very nicely... now time to let go of their hand and let them work it out for themselves. Or think about bananas if they're so inclined, whatever; you've done your job as a poet, now time to exit stage left.

But the rest is wonderfully, strangely imaginative.

[PrinceMyshkin]

You had me up to 'is life' (line 11), where I think the poem should end.

What comes after should be left blank, for the reader to consider for themselves. You've led them down this philosophical path very nicely... now time to let go of their hand and let them work it out for themselves. Or think about bananas if they're so inclined, whatever; you've done your job as a poet, now time to exit stage left.

But the rest is wonderfully, strangely imaginative.

That hadn't occurred to me at all, but once B|V has pointed it out, I can see clearly how


gnarled fingers trying to
Clutch at something as big as
A doorknob, maybe that thing
Is life.

would make so much more dramatic and memorable an ending than what you have now which is so manifest a change of voice, one that sounds too chummy by contrast with the sharp-sightedness that came before it.

[.Kafka]

I believe the crowning glory of this poem are the following lines:

"They’re crushed into the white paint, their
Blood staining the whiteness
Of the white paint..."

Your use of 'white' is extremely evocative and instills in my mind an image of an existential expanse, barren, with choking mimes reaching out in 3d.

[breathtest]

B/V and Prince - I can see what you mean. The last few lines are pretty unecessary. Thanks for pointing that out.

Thanks Kafka your interpretation is very much appreciated. I thought as i was writing it that it was necessary to highlight the clean whitness of the walls so that the spiders were that much more clearer in your mind.

[Maryd.]

I hope you realize, Mary, that you have just robbed me of at least three nights sleep!

But i will have the last laugh because you don't know where i live. hahahaha

I'm sure you live right here in Melbourne...

[breathtest]

haha not even close

[Bar22do]

I come to this late... but the disturbing image here is powerful to me. Is not all what is LIFE? (our moments' jerks seem to be merely quants of life, though who knows, they may contain it all just as well) and what do we know about LIFE... have we only started discovering its eternity?
Thanks for this sharing Breath, and best regards - Bar

[breathtest]

thanks Bar!

[Silas Thorne]

These walls and their smudgy grease of spider mess with their legs up is wonderful good poetry. I'd tend to agree with blankverse though on dropping the end. You don't need to waffle on about the significance of matters. We have the stark white wall with the image against it to consider the image you created.

[Skia]

Ooohhh... J'adore this peice Breath,
Quite sinister ;)
You know I like this type of work Breath!
Well done Indeed :D

[breathtest]

Thanks Silas Thorne, i definitely agree with that too. the ending should be dropped.

Skia - thanks a lot. i'm really glad you like it.

[Skia]

I do like it. A lot actually :)