Tired

Charcoal cloud banks break 

the day to pieces; 

split blankets and sheets when I'm too old, 

it's too cold 

and I don't really 

care. 

Accidental fatalities double the knot in my stomach; 

put to death 

             the stars 

and chase letters across my palm, very nearly 

Touching 

                stringy words. 

 

Neutering white space.

 

Pretty, familiar syntax 

         Pushing the wind to impatience, tongue-- 

clucking, rutted 

alleyways where solitude, 

             whittled energy 

weigh in at grasping fingertips, 

            street level opinion 

... 

         Listen to me. And tell me. 

 

When I've grown so small, 

how can I possibly hold back the wind?

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I don't know what else to call it. This is an architecture of a mind operating on lower brain functions. Ha! 

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patriciajj's picture

This is even more amazing

This is even more amazing after a second read. So many lines pop and tell an immense story about the experience of being drained and overwhelmed. And I'm always enchanted by your love of words themselves—what you can make them do.

*

I happened to be feeling weary now, and somehow your perfect sculpture of the feeling has inflamed my imagination and brought me back to life. Simply stunning. 

Januarian's picture

This poem is vert poignant,

This poem is vert poignant, and very adroitly reminded me of how, in my grade school years, dismal weekend days always had negative effects on my moods.  I don't know why this started for me, but it was definitely present in those early years.  Especially dreadful were dismal Sundays---made worse if my mother elected to prepare her pork roast and cole slaw dinner.  When that happened, I just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.  God blessed me to survive all that, and in a few years, dismal weekends no longer tripped me up. Thanks for writing a poem intensive enough to compel me to remember all that, so many decades since.  


Januarian

[* /+/ ^]

Cascade's picture

It does indeed, and I

It does indeed, and I consider it an honor to have been a part of your experience, and better yet, that you have shared it with me. Thank you!

Cascade's picture

Starward, thank you for

Starward, thank you for reading and for sharing a part of your story with me. I truly consider it an honor, but I am curious...why would you thank me for compelling you to remember it? 

Januarian's picture

My language probably fell

My language probably fell short of my intent about the remembering.  When a poem takes me back, in old age, to a time of young age, from which I can learn a more mature lesson, that poem has given me a gift of connecting with a truth that had not been apparent, or admissable, before.  When that happens, the poem has favored me, and I have, in old age, been taught to understand these as blessings, or opportunities to be blessed.  I hope that makes some sense of what I was trying to express. 


Januarian

[* /+/ ^]

Wordman's picture

Tired indeed. It's easy to

Tired indeed. It's easy to find myself in your words. Those of us lucky enough to feel the weight of age, also struggle with it's knowledge. 

  I have decided not to hold back the wind anymore, to just surrender and "go with the flow" if you'd like. Hopefully it will lead me to places yet discovered, and dreams not yet dreampt. With life's sails raised, I move forward, till I find that distant promised shore. 

 Thanks for posting, always a pleasure. 

Cascade's picture

Thank you so much, Wordman.

Thank you so much, Wordman. Sorry it took me so long to respond to your warm and understanding review, I just come off of a 62 hr work hussle. Haven't had much free time. I hope it leads you to the best adventures and the deepest most amazing dreams, dear poet. 

patriciajj's picture

The title is perfect, I

The title is perfect, I believe, because it's such a relatable theme, one that you took on a breathtaking journey with a structure that pulses and wordplay that thunders. As always I'm enthralled by your daring and miraculous leaps of language. Your "architecture" always towers above the ordinary. 

 

Haunting and unforgettable. Lady, you rule! 

Cascade's picture

Thank you Patricia. I

Thank you Patricia. I apologize for this delayed response. I am always honored and delighted to have you by. You always give the best reviews Smile

word_man's picture

sounds like a dark and drury

sounds like a dark and drury place to be in ones life


ron parrish

Cascade's picture

Nothing some peace and quiet

Nothing some peace and quiet and a good hard sleep won't fix. Maybe a margerita or two...

word_man's picture

and one of those left handed

and one of those left handed cigarettes


ron parrish

Stephen's picture

Not bad for a "mind operating on lower brain functions."

---- Stephen

Cascade's picture

. Thank you so much,

Smile. Thank you so much, Stephen.