by Darryl Price
There are simply no more words around me quite full enough yet to sort of cancel out
these more than emptied ones. I'm sorry. There might be some forever fields left of
crowded purple flowers if you look hard enough but no mountain's majesty
to compare them with or to and thus no fresh
brightly lit memories to be planted as always on the anew only for you, my love.
They'll cling to the revolving groundswells anyways I suppose ,
tossing and churning like one big opening
mouth ,chomping and chewing everything
in existence into a peeled
and empty waste-land, bad-ass smelling perfume.You're
so far away from what I'm feeling
right now that I'm only vaguely aware
of a dot shrinking somewhere in
the vicinity of my lost dreamland's scraped forehead .
I might have probably only been resting my hot face on my darkened desk all the day long
anyway. I can only remember
bits and pieces of my life before this.
The crunch of an apple. The wet of
a coat. The wind of a lake.So once
again I am like a lost & knackered toy
soldier (all alone) in an unfamiliar
world that maybe once upon
a short time we used to breathe about
in, giving oxygen its northern
pathway to the stars, or so I am being
told by shadow after terrible, mumbling, grumbling
shadow. Nothing wants to ever hold
me close like that again. I'm dropped through the through,
every sky I piece across, shot open,
colorless,empty and rolling easily off even
the greenest of bright blades! I don't move
much from this bottom layer as I will often
wade and disappear and reappear
among other things. The books only give
me their hunched and cold shoulders now. None will
look me in the one good eye. We used to be
such close friends. They hold their words gathered
in their tummy pages against the
hungry burglar in my eye.Each trapped
window warns me not to try and surface
from the days but I cannot muster
even a middle finger because
I am made of sedimentary
particles and cannot rise at all
unless stirred.Where I am going there
are no curious fish to create life-
giving (many) ripples against such open vastness.
Bonus stuff:
by Darryl Price
by Darryl Price
by Darryl Price
by Darryl Price
by Darryl Price
14
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2149 words
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Everyone feels small sometime. Loneliness is a lot to push back against when you're feeling hurt or lonely. Thus the vastness. The futile feeling. I'm saying we've all been there. We'll probably be there again. It's such a small thing to extend a hand, especially since we know how much it will mean in the end.But silence is another vastness that can completely knock you out. A voice can save you and then maybe your own voice can find usefulness beyond its own timely measure. There's a dream within a dream. Pile on.
This story has no tags.
"The wet of / a coat."
"the / hungry burglar in my eyes"
"where I am going / there are no curious fish to create / life-giving ripples against vastness"
Don't ever stop writing.
***
Sad, Darryl. In a way that charms me--but it's such emptiness that I feel a chill after reading this. As a stirring poem about loneliness or abandonment or self-abandonment will often provide. xo, H
This is sad - beautiful - the books giving their hunched and cold shoulders. The hungry burglar, "Nothing wants to ever hold me close again like that" Brilliant *
This is nice work, DP. Especially like this part -
"Each trapped
window warns me not to try and surface
from the days but I cannot muster
even a middle finger because
I am made of sedimentary
particles and cannot rise at all
unless stirred."
Good piece.
Yes, sad, and powerful Enjoyed this much.
Especially:
Nothing wants to ever hold
me close again like that . I'm dropped through
every sky I blow across, chuted,
colorless and empty rolling off
the greenest grassblades!
“There are no words to go along with
these words.” Really great, DP.
I won't parse it down or highlight any one phrase: the whole resonates with such enormous feeling and vivid imagery that it seems a shame to dive in. But IF I wear inclined to do so, I'd have to single out: "I am made of sedimentary particles and cannot rise unless stirred." Delightful *
Strong poetic voice, graphically vivid emotional language, reads like butter: I enjoy it.
"The books only give
me their hunched and cold shoulders. None will
look me in the eye. We used to be
such close friends. "
Just adding this line to the faves above. Very strong work. *
Well, this is just hugely sad and beautiful, Darryl. I'm with Bill, do not stop writing. *
Amazing work. Dark but beautiful, the best balance, and most difficult, in this craft. Every line hit me hard or lifted me then pushed me away only to lull me back. The push and pull and the consistent fresh use of language brings this home. This is, simply put, truly core poetry, molten and essential. I don't what else to say. My mind and heart are still talking to one another, but my fingertips have been stilled. Thanks for sitting down and writing this and continuing to do so. We are all the better for it.
Great poem and I love some of the lines. Well written.
*
Absolutely worth the read!
enjoyed, very much..
Thanks to everyone who commented. I appreciate your time more than I could ever say,but being writers,you already know what I 'm talking about. Thank you so much!
I had to rewrite big chunks of this one, as I was not happy with its flow, but hopefully I've improved it and that meets with your approval, so please note, all comments above are for the first draft. Thanks.