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The Playwrights Forum > The Art & Craft of Writing > Poet's Corner : Critique my Poem > Impossible Things

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timmy
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Joined: Fri Jun 9th, 2006
Location: Oz, Minnesota USA
Posts: 1079
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Mana: 
Hearing a song after it ends, living
in it, enjoying its faded beat, no words
now, just humming to a nameless tune,
something that starts when its music ends,
like that time at the intersection of London Road
and something, the dancing and the holding
like being in the middle of an empty fairgrounds
the night before it opens, the empty seats,
the passing automobiles’ headlights
watching from a safe distance
 
That moment when the sun rises, ignoring
the bleak breeze, and you realizing love is never
enough, but sometimes it is all there is, and at any
moment you will raise your head and utter hello
as if it’s a culmination of oral love knowledge
 
Having one rose petal drop along your path,
exactly at a moment you most need it,
like the moment after mother died, after
her last funeral song played, and you waited
at a distance while father took her hand into his
for the last time, kissed it, and gently placed it
back into her coffin; sandalwood scent
was in the air and there it was, the rose petal,
and by the time you picked it up, father
was at your side and together you both
walked away from mother for the last time
 
You not remembering the exact moment
a summer rain stopped falling but still enjoying
the smell and the wetness, those fleeting moments
remembering  puddles in front of the Beach Road house,
the single elm with its branches over the patio
you later took down after Dutch Disease sapped its core,
and later seeing the east morning light in your window
where branches used to be, that light you remember
now when back then you didn’t realize was there at all

Last edited on Fri May 30th, 2014 08:06 pm by timmy



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