Sideways tilting

It's those moments out of the ordinary days 

you know, the ones that are so beautiful they hurt 

something wicked 

or so painful they have no choice but to be beautiful 

that make some of us sideways tilting people stick 

around another day...another way 

over 

under 

laughing til we cry 

crying til we fall down laughing 

our minds 

charcoal rubbing against the night sky 

where we dip 

and arch 

and clap our hands to the dancing bear 

made of particulates 

while our body kicks 

in free fall 

under a warm quilt 

which is our weeping comfort 

and our laughing trap

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Ok... I'm going to say this is a prose. Perhaps more so than a poem. Maybe a prose/poem... I can't seem to make up my mind.  So, it's here for now but it might change... Or it might go away. 

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patriciajj's picture

This checks all the boxes of

This checks all the boxes of poetry in my opinion—the accessible and conversational language glides gracefully upon a musical stream and ordinary words become something extraordinary in your expert hands. 

 

This is an odyssey of pure joy, culminating in complete abandon as we "clap our hands to the dancing bear" then make the sweetest, softest landing "under a warm quilt/ which is our weeping comfort/ and our laughing trap." 

 

A resplendent dreamscape. 

Cascade's picture

Thank you so much for all

Thank you so much for all your support and enthusiasm, dear poetess. Much love!

word_man's picture

you`re welcome

you`re welcome


ron parrish

word_man's picture

and all under the warmth of a

and all under the warmth of a blanket


ron parrish

Cascade's picture

Thank you for stopping by,

Thank you for stopping by, Wordman. 

Wordman's picture

  Poem, prose, excellent

 


Poem, prose, excellent writing, yep, it fits all three. With something this special I don't believe pigeon holing it is fair. It is to be enjoyed, that's the bottom line. And it was, thank you. 

Cascade's picture

Your comment made me smile.

Your comment made me smile. Thank you so much for giving it a whirl, dear poet.

Stephen's picture

Poem or prose.

Any discussion of whether this is poem or prose only detracts from the absolute beauty of this delightful articulation.  -- Stephen

Cascade's picture

Articulation...if only

Articulation...if only PostPoems would give me that listening option. 

So very encouraging. Much love, Stephen Smile

Starward's picture

I like the poem very much,

I like the poem very much, and I disagree that it is prose.  The line pattern has a kinetic energy that carries the reader along, and only poetry can do that; not prose.  The intense imagery, and the poem's movement through that imagery, also qualifies it as poetry and not prose.  The final four lines provide a sense of arrival, of proper and appropriate arrival, which suggests a kind of closure.  Yes, this is a poem; most certainly, a poem.


Januarian

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Cascade's picture

Well thank you, Starward, for

Well thank you, Starward, for letting me know the scholarly would consider it a poem indeed. What I did was, post a journal entry the other day and then tried to recreate it into poetry. Lately I haven't been writing much poetry. That happens frequently to me, actually. I'm a part-time poet.  I have gone months and years without writing any poetry at all. Some of the poems I have posted here are old. A few, like Cal cu las, are quite old. I journal more frequently than I write poetry, and so, I attempt to convert them into poems when my poetry well is dried up. It's a struggle to piece it into a poem at times and I question my English skills because they are basic at best. I wanted to be a writer but living life and the choices I made sent me in a different direction, (raising kids as a single mom and all) so it became all about making money, and the DRC paid well. 

So, anyway, I just wanted to explain a bit, to you, and anyone, actually, about the changes in style or format, or even emotions. I don't really have a style, even. I basically wing it. Lol thank you so much for calling it a poem and for saying that you like it...and for reading it and all my listings and leaving feedback. Very much appreciated, dear poet. I wish I had more time to spend reading but duty calls. I will visit you soon. Thanks again.

 

Starward's picture

As I read this, I thought

As I read this, I thought about the great Wallace Stevens, and his daily walk (he never learned to drive) of two miles (to and from the office), during which he jotted things down on stray pieces of paper, later (at the office, or at home) to convert those jottings into his magnificent poems.  Often, he would jot down graffiti on walls, or elsewhere, and convert those into his whimsical poem titles.  And my favorite of his closing lines has been (since about 1980), "Good-bye, Mrs. Papadopolous, and thanks!"  Sorry if this has been a bit verbose:  your comment reminded me of Pop Stevens, and he always makes me get whimsical.


Januarian

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Cascade's picture

Not at all verbose, Starward.

Not at all verbose, Starward. You have me curious. I shall have to look it up now. Thanks again for all your support and leaving your footprints on my page. I apologize for the late reply. I have a very busy schedule with work and training and family issues.

Starward's picture

Back in October, 1978, I met

Back in October, 1978, I met a most impressive poet who had come to our campus to read; and random chance allowed me to be assigned to give her a tour of the campus, as she had arrived too early and the professors did not know what to do with her in the meantime.  During our long walk, I disclosed to her that I wanted to be a poet, and she asked me if I had read Stevens.  Now, up to that day, I had studiously avoided Stevens because he was too middle-class (socially, professionally) and too much like my father.  Her exact words to me, which, since 1978, have never proven to be wrong was, "Stevens' poetry will make you work, but he pays you back for it."  I can tell you, I began reading Stevens that very day, and have never stopped.  I can also tell you that until the summer of 1982, I hardly understood anything he wrote, and read the poetry simply to relish the beauty of his words.  Helen Vendlers set of four essays on his poetry, which she made into a book called "Words Written Out Of Desire" unlocked the great mystery of his poetry, teaching me how to read the poems, and how to interpret Stevens' strategies of expressing his emotions without disclosing private matters (his failed marriage is all throughout his middle poems, although one has to learn where to look; same with his fear of retirement, and losing the refuge of the office).  In 1984, when Peter Brazeau published his brilliant biography of Stevens---which consisted totally of interviews with people who remembered Stevens and had been willing to talk to Brazeau about him---I learned, form Stevens, how to fit into the low-level corporate job I then had, a job I had hated until Stevens taught me otherwise.  Later, when I went to work in the Collection Department of our state's largest Credit Union, Stevens taught me the best way to make collection arrangements ("Always resolve all doubts in favor of the customer") and I used his case filing system to organize my own files.  In my final seven years with that comapny, I held the rank of Administrator in the department---largely because of Wallace Stevens, and his documented pursuit of professional excellence (he was an insurance lawyer, and, during his latter career, the acknowledge national expert on surety bond law).  Sorry, I become quite chatty when I talk about him.  Ironically, having said that he had reminded me of my father, I read a poem in which John Berryman says, about Stevens, "Brother, he is our father," and since then, I have called him Pop Stevens.  During my senior year at college, I met the poet Howard Nemerov, who had been acquainted with Stevens, and he told me what it was like to be at a social gathering with him.  Nemerov told me to listen to the recordings of Stevens' readings (some are on YouTube---I recommend those, as well) and that he spoke very much the same way he read.  Okay, I am done going on and on about Pop Stevens, and I hope you will give his stuff a look.  I can tell you, with the experience of forty-two years, he does pay you back for the effort.


Januarian

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