Sharing this week with The Sunday Muse and Poets and Storytellers United.
When the penthouse fell, it kept that purity,
all the expectations of wealth in the clarity
of water. And the zoo had crumbled,
the bags shredded and flown,
kibble and buckets forgotten.
All the animals now drink our last myth;
our last pellucid tears fell here--the rust
we lean against and these rough
edges once distance smoothed,
press sharp against us.
Stand with me at the last window--glass
is no longer safe, this pane already
cracking at the upper edge.
Lean your weary forehead against the last cold clear.
There's no prayer in the throat of a beast;
there's no song in that blue water.
Lay your head against the flat glass;
there's no more sky in our towers,
no more gold to climb.
So, lately it's been hard for me to talk about anything remotely resembling "real life future plans" without inviting nightmares. Wake up, turn on a Disney movie, zonk right back out nightmares, leading to waking up an hour later to another nightmare, this time with theme song. This unexpected fear of the future fits right in with being leery of having family members in the house and beginning to treat things like malls and restaurants as somewhat mythical places, full of as many dragons as any map from the Age of Exploration.
Right now, all this is going into a notebook that might metamorphose into a novella or just a remembrance...not sure yet.
-- Chrissa
This reads like an amazing and old myth. Absolutely profound and gorgeous my friend! I look forward to the creation of a novella sparked by this. Wishing you a peaceful and safe week ahead.
ReplyDeleteMaybe it would help if you watch some good, syrupy Hallmark happy ending movies??? Something is feeding those nightmares. I see them as a novella which, in turn, will give their readers nightmares in a sort of self-perpetuating unending national lack of sleep epidemic!
ReplyDeleteI am dreadfully sorry you are having nightmares ... secretly delighted with what they seem to produce. Sleep well tonight.
ReplyDelete"there's no song in that blue water.
ReplyDeleteLay your head against the flat glass;
there's no more sky in our towers,
no more gold to climb." - doesn't get any better than that.
Love this poem... and you end it perfectly "no more gold to climb."
ReplyDeleteI liked a lot, although it left me with a sad feeling, how you went from a hopeful outlook even though the pent house had fallen, through a time of instructions for coping, to an utterly dismal affair with hope lost.
ReplyDeleteBTW, your first line and knowing of the large room, just meant to contain a large pool, and the crowd filling most of the rest, I was very quickly, like a flash, of the large room full of war prisoners in The Enormous Room (1922) of e e Cummings. Not even having it on my mind since midnight last night did have that thought until now.
I did like his book a lot, it was autobiographical for his time spent in a real French prison.
..
"All the animals now drink our last myth;"
ReplyDeleteMy favourite line
In these pandemic days so many things are already filed to once upon a tins
Happy Sunday Chrissa. Thanks for dropping by my blog today
Much💖love
You said it like it is, Chrissa. Beautiful write! Things seemed to move both ways, more of regression. Even staying put is not safe as we'll be overtaken by events.
ReplyDeleteHank
I had a nightmare about a week ago, I woke up in a sweat and couldn't breathe. They are not fun but, in the morning I broke down the dream and it felt much better. Wishing you peace and calm in the night.
ReplyDeleteThe sweetness of the world is still there and will be waiting for us when the cloud has lifted. They key to peace lies within, grasshopper, not without. ;-)
ReplyDeleteThis is wonderful, Chrissa. I love,
ReplyDelete"Lean your weary forehead against the last cold clear."
This is really incredible.
ReplyDelete