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DROPPER

Submitted by Esker on Mon, 2017-03-27 00:17

When was the last time U ate?
can U tell me what day this is?

the sun is trying to find the angles
in the cut glass tumbler
amber refractions rising like a day
aurora
poorly blown popcorn ceiling
catching the shifting ice
warm neutrality
illusions of safety
like dust
no passage
trails grown stale
and kinder with loss

somewhere
I look
somehow we find
glasses smudged
a pork chop relevant
on its china plate
a temple nestled
in limestone clouds
silverware poised
crossed
cloth napkin stirred
with some fuscia
gloss rests like
a pointed shroud

i steady the hands
and set the frames
evenly across the
stout bridge of nose
the sliver of lucidity
washes like wipers
in the rain before
the fogs return
perhaps its better
in barbituate blurr
I turn on the television
with the remote
the wooden cabinet
the bass speakers
find a station with
soft rock
rise the awareness level
up...tweak the nuetral
bouyancy of mood
I feel like my dreams
everything flows surreal
dump out the rotting water
in the vase
'no..not the irises...I save
those..'
holds the brittle bouqette
In the neons leer I wash my
face with cold water
rinse out the vase
place in the fresh green stalks
the beauty transfixed
set it on the bureau

she tells me her dreams
voyages fantastic
i divulge the meanings
and symbolisms
throw in a humor notation
which she catches
laughs like a dry breeze
light like the old glass chinese
chimes on verandahs
red script like the geranium
heads basking

shes holding her own
no better no worse
a grey transport plane
slips between the eye of
tall sky
her large eyes follows
it...'are they headed to
the resort?'
i pause holding my breath
caught in my throat
like the room in time
but let it out slowly
carefully
to not cause a wind
'their baggage in the
cargo hold..Bermuda shorts
and beach shoes!'

takes the crystal and sucks
slowly the tumbler in her hands
sets it down and waits
chewing slowly on the ice

I turn
and shes staring through me
vivid as I remember
she speaks clearly
a different voice
a voice I remember
'u came to me in a dream
do U remember?'
a chill runs through me
like someone stepped
on my grave
'well...i have been busy
when I find time to nap..'

'funny mister....forever the
twister of trails and tact..Come!'
she pats the edge of the
bed...silk and knitted quilts
I know that I will be haunted
further.....she beckons
knowing I will speak
when her hand lays upon
my shoulders
like any tamer knows...

Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

Esker

Mon, 2017-03-27 15:11

Esker's picture

graffitti..yes..perfect

people of the most gifted lives
the most tortured
the poem is actually about a younger woman
my own mothers dying were rather strong
and in control to the end

the setting details were scrounged high end
items from second hand stores
a lot of these people relied on suffusing use
sometimes I arrived and it was bee bop and action
but occasionally they were..'resting' finding in
dreams the softness that life may not have permitted
nor their settings....these people ran top end
totally front point lead....travellers...
crews....

the character was actually rising from sleep
time was a.m. stimulants would get them stirring
soft rock would be replaced with hard rock or rap

just the backscatter noise on this intel work

Thank U Audri!

mr W

author comment

Geezer

Mon, 2017-03-27 07:54

Geezer's picture
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that this is about someone who is dying slowly. The only thing that I see that may need fixing, is the lines that talk about visiting in her dream. "well, I have been busy, when I find time to nap" I think that it should read more like "I have been busy,not much time to nap". other than that, I find this a sobering account of what it is like to visit someone who is dying and knows it. I like the sense of understated humor from the lady, in the lines: "funny mister...forever the twister of trails and tact." As always, you bring reality a touch of the fantastic. ~ Gee.
.

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This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

Esker

Mon, 2017-03-27 15:22

Esker's picture

the semi lucidity of the statement she asks
was a prompt....the old line often was...'I dreamt of
U' and the response would be truthful....'I dreamt o U'
the interest was....what were we saying
the delve! literally meet in sleep on the trail
as is done in life...real time
but sometimes the more creative aspects of the mind
in sleep will fortell more freedom and flexibility to
solutions...thus...i was rather busy then to sleep
and meet up on the dream trail...
but equally your more corrective format for easier
understanding is equally true...

again....the person is not old
nor dying...but existing working out the work neglect
trauma and high cost of the high octane lifestyle
charging up...
once a shower....make up....needed things to bring
the blood up and heart kick and mind jumpstarted
boots...clothes....attire...shades..
bling.....line up a ride....shot of perfume
cigarettes....few calls
coffee....soup....microwave chicken noodle
or donut from local shop....

a lot of people were dying though
older crews......hollywood connection
black market hong king gold dealers
slavers....ex military....ex freedom
fighters....street kings and princesses
from danger daddies
everyones human

for me the reward was just walking
with these legends.....had to earn that
place.....by doing...butt licking dont get
u an answer at the door
hard to believe but people stripped
down are normal....but full of life
charged up and in their kit...word i use
or outsider clothes...that transformation
was a wait worth watching

the fantastic is often overlooked
most people dont have time to
be aware.....
my system is cranked....i wish
i saw only blurriness
but everything comes in
why i relished the fact that
they could submerse themselves
into that state and actually rest
without much harm...

thanks for the comments

Mr W

author comment

Geezer

Tue, 2017-03-28 15:13

Geezer's picture
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You must admit, the scene surely seems like dying, to one that doesn't know. ~ Gee.
.

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

Esker

Thu, 2017-03-30 01:15

Esker's picture

no...goodbye statements...no beeping life machine
ICU...old folks front desk
no...'ma...u gotta sign me up as power of attorney...heres the pen...'
no cougar kisses
No chocolates nor wine...
hey...trade you this chiraz for your valiums
.
but...we want to be sure in what we see
like the river whose surface below the mill bridge
sweeps the ducks into its shadow south east
while below the stronger current moves back
north west two hundred feet to the limestone
lip of the bend....

we know so little of man and the world
of spirituality...of the unknowns
yet we brush against it with our fingertips
elbows every day
...

'He taps the fish food into the small square
aquarium...the oxygen pump humming..
how he can tell if hes paying attention to
her....like the flowers the fish float..the
dead frond of beauty dark and wilted
like her mood..'.(he hates it when she
rewards him...as if hes compliant to
her wishes....she knows his violence
loves the power she has on him
feeds off his anger....staff is doing a
room check again...prolli to see if im
not hanging in the closet...her eyes
sparkle at that one....he just smiles
back feeling that edge dulled by the
run of society getting sharper by
her wit.....)

..

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