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RWP#94 The prompt was this image...
My angel and my devil.....by Thomas Hawk
LAST CALL
Uncrossing my legs from the ball of twine
arching my back
taking a satisfied breath
looking like the spectre of death
I gaze at her
I don't need another drink
I'm high on iron spiked with red dye
honoured she is here
to see my life in full view
dressed in red
frozen in fear
as the transparency of my nakedness
and my guiding light
allows her to see
who I pretend to be
the invisible poet
with my cathedral of memory
lost in the acid of religion
needing prozac pills
to fast like a monk
to walk on water
towards the valley of yesterday
and play the moonlight sonata
and sing with Sinatra
then shave the head of an atheist
who needs it laced up
before joining the communist party
to find out the diference between left and write
and meet the mystics and senile poets
who are learning to read write poems
remembering the last time I saw her
wearing her soiled white apron
disguising her crooked crosses
tired of being white
listening to Ray Charles crying
inside that rejected church
drinking rum
smoking cigars
aging rapidly in her silence
yearning to be a poet
trying to sober up
frozen in the eyes of the beholder
and staring through the hole in her bosom
caused by the shot of sorrow
and the collapse of religions that collide
remaining silent
she has now heard last call
the game is over
checkmate.
My angel and my devil.....by Thomas Hawk
LAST CALL
Uncrossing my legs from the ball of twine
arching my back
taking a satisfied breath
looking like the spectre of death
I gaze at her
I don't need another drink
I'm high on iron spiked with red dye
honoured she is here
to see my life in full view
dressed in red
frozen in fear
as the transparency of my nakedness
and my guiding light
allows her to see
who I pretend to be
the invisible poet
with my cathedral of memory
lost in the acid of religion
needing prozac pills
to fast like a monk
to walk on water
towards the valley of yesterday
and play the moonlight sonata
and sing with Sinatra
then shave the head of an atheist
who needs it laced up
before joining the communist party
to find out the diference between left and write
and meet the mystics and senile poets
who are learning to read write poems
remembering the last time I saw her
wearing her soiled white apron
disguising her crooked crosses
tired of being white
listening to Ray Charles crying
inside that rejected church
drinking rum
smoking cigars
aging rapidly in her silence
yearning to be a poet
trying to sober up
frozen in the eyes of the beholder
and staring through the hole in her bosom
caused by the shot of sorrow
and the collapse of religions that collide
remaining silent
she has now heard last call
the game is over
checkmate.
17 comments:
"to find out the diference between left and write
and meet the mystics and senile poets
who are learning to read write poems"
Wonderful, Wayne!
I love the way you fuse religion, politics, psychology and game-playing while poking a few gentle jabs at our community.
_____
Paul Oakley
Blogging his ReadWritePoem poems at
Inner Light, Radiant Life
hi Wayne, Inspired writing with a great resolution.
what a pair! religion's his acid trip and her crying jag. still i think she gets the better with ray, rum, and cigars
The polarities in this are marvellous, and it reads so very fast. Excellent.
Hi Wayne,
Enjoyed reading this. I particularly like the section:
"I'm high on iron spiked with red dye
honoured she is here
to see my life in full view
dressed in red
frozen in fear
as the transparency of my nakedness
and my guiding light
allows her to see
who I pretend to be"
Hope I'm not one of the senile poets!
There is no defense of nakedness when one is past sixty, we both know that. Although, the eyes with which I now see life provides a clarity visioned "with my cathedral of memory". This then is the "acid of religion needing prozac pills." I have printed out your poem to challenge me as I go through this day, this tangled "ball of twine". You are truly Canada's in residence itinerant poetic hippy. Thanks for a great ride.
Regards,
DH
Great poem. I like the word play on the title and the interplay between the speaker and the "death angel" in the poem. Many sweet lines; I especially liked:
"I'm high on iron spiked with red dye..."
"to find out the diference between left and write","tired of being white
listening to Ray Charles crying
inside that rejected church"
I enjoyed your poem. I liked all the issues you worked your way through on both sides. I smiled at your reference to to poetry writing and i think your hip style is cool. Well written, Wayne!
This piece is a game! Wonderful...
Way to go, Wayne!
let the red bleed
this is a true poetic experience from start to finish. BRAVO!
"cathedral of memory" an excellent visual here wayne, very cavernous and daunting, but for me, intimidating. enjoyed top to bottom, well penned and cheers to saturday mate. -lawrence
I really like "the difference between left and write." Great work, Wayne.
I too really liked "the difference between left and write." It's a great line. Thanks for sharing.
There are so many great lines here that it's impossible to choose just one that stands out. Great poem overall. Love what you created from the picture prompt!
Holy Moley...
Unbelievable.
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