RWP#99... using the prompt... two people stting
at a table with broken glass on the floor.
BROKEN GLASS
There is more than memory
when it's lost
Edie and Jack
sitting
at Figaro Cafe on Macdougall street
staring
at Washington Square.. speechless...hopeless
hiding
thoughts never spoken
forgetting
promises never given
remembering
lost moments of yesterday
waiting
for the old dead poets
sitting
on their suicide pact
dreaming
of their sexual repression
discovering
Jesus had no religion
praying
for mysteries and non believers
smelling
their smoke and dirty feet
hating
the Yankees and their stolen bases
pretending
the past had square faces
hurting
in unknown places
singing
with sounds without noises
running
with bare feet and bleeding noses
waiting
for the desired streetcar
taking
shortcuts to empty spaces
struggling
with no memory
talking
without tongues of the church
staring
speechless and hopeless
searching
for lost tears
holding
emptiness of broken glass...Edie leaves
walking
towards lost memories and forgotten fears.
+poga+poetry+by+wayne.jpg)
my original poetry
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thanks Kimberley
About Me
- Wayne Pitchko
- Golden, British Columbia, Canada
- POET/PAINTER..I'm retired social worker..live in the Canadian Rockies with my partner Vreni. have two daughters and six grandchildren.....
9 comments:
Hi Wayne,
I like the format you chose with the verb on one line and the details on the next line. That gives a shattered feeling to the piece. I also like the occasional rhymes. They help to move this piece along without being sing-song-y. Thanks for posting.
I like the way devoting every other line to a present participle turns all but the first two lines and "Edie leaves" into one long compound adjectival phrase. It looks like you're verbing all the while you're actually describing to beat the band. No breath is really possible until Edie leaves. How appropriate!
Nice!
Lovely piece. Like the other comments, I like how your format sets up an uneven rhythm.
The rhythm in this is edgy, highlighting the words perfectly. Excellently done.
I really like the breadth of the litany that centers this, from old dead poets, to Jesus having no religion, to the Yankees' stolen bases, to the "desired streetcar" (great phrase), then turning back to the personal.
So sad and beautiful...
The intensity is like music
I agree with the effectiveness of the "ing" lines -- for me, they were like shards, like little pieces. Reading them, I felt like I do when I see a glass falling, and it seems to be "fall-ing" for a very long moment in the present. The poem's scene is a very long moment in the present. Well-done, and glad you posted it after you returned from your trip. (My family and I loved Vancouver and Victoria when we visited!)
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