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Like and Unlike (Free verse) by Christof How like an old man. Midstride, dead,
He topples
His face as mottled
As a butterfly's wing.
Be distracted as the pavements sing
For the rain
Plays the slatted drain
Like a xylophone.
Consider the skin tone
Now brittle as chalk,
The stamp of his walk
From his muscles erased
Like a lyric unphrased.
Note the dumb head
Note the wedding ring
As the unknown dully meets the unknown.
Up the ladder:
rock me to sleep tonight:
Down the ladder:
A Summers Day In Stolen Eden
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.357143
Posted: September 12, 2002 1:12 AM PDT; Last modified: September 12, 2002 1:12 AM PDTWeighted score: 5.992151 Overall Rank: 1315 Comments:
[10]
vulcan @ 80.242.3.82
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12-Sep-02/7:54 AM
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Reply
the last images paint an unforgottable picture.9
Hi Christof!what have you done with your"Preconceptual"?you had such a poem or I dreamed it?just then I wanted to read it again and found it disapeared!It was very good!H'm!please tell me the reason
I'm glad you liked it, but I think I realised it needed a bit more work. Soemthing wasn't quite working for me. I might put it up again next week - I'm glad you really liked it.
"Be distracted..." confuses me, and "Consider the skin tone" makes me wince a little.
Confusion in this case is good! I decided to subvert myself a bit. And 'tone' - I need a rhyme for 'xylophone' and it makes me think of a clinical description, which I like for this poem. I read thos one myself and thought 'this is a bit odd'.
I like your poetry, Christof. Not sure I understand 'unknown dully', though. How about 'as a moth's wing'? I think of a butterfly's wing as being colourful, not mottled. I reread your poems, dood.
'Dully' is an adverb - the unknown meets the unknown in a dully way. It's a good word aurally, but I admit it looks a bit peculiar on paper.(or screen). Also I know what you mean about moths, but I liked the implied fragility of the butterfly wing that for me the moth doesn't have. What an abstruse distinction to have to make. And we have some very mottled and drab butterflies in England.
Yawn!
The first death i remember was when an old man died on the street on my way to school. they hadn't covered him when i showed up. This poem evokes my memories of that so perfectly. Very real. uncontrived.
Well, sorry, to have brought back unpleasant memories.
watched closely. i would love to see you sketching these as you watch ever so closely.
WONDERFULLY PERPLEXED, AND VIVID. - LYRISICK-.
Not so sure about that last stanza, but the rest is Great.
You are the griddle, I am the meat. <---- sorry, that bit is from a song I'm listening to at the moment. Looooovage! 273 view(s)
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