Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Rob Schackne #105 - Half-Told Tales

Half-Told Tales


Come sit yourself down and listen 
to an old frenzy wheezing on a bus
the slant of his head and the hand
shaking so bad after the accident
say he can't let go of the night
a man waiting to cross the street
his eyes glance up to the sky
sees there is someone waiting

in another part of heaven a tree
no rope but sweet birds of sorrow
a toddler already festooned with
red balloons goes after the last one

new mother ignores his noises
the way a time ignored her own
now makes up stories in her head
a grandfather will sit down quietly
the body still whispers things

the door the bottle the birthday
the gunfire jumping around across
the first time he heard the Devil’s name.


2 comments:

  1. beautiful writing, observant with a human touch, especially the following:

    a toddler already festooned with
    red balloons goes after another one

    a mother who ignores his noises
    once upon a time ignored her own
    and now makes up stories in her head

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  2. Dear Efi, You are kind. A type of Murder Ballad. Originally a going-on-a-ride poem, hold-on-tight, slightly mad. The 'beautiful writing' was maybe unnecessary. In the end I simplified the language and brought all the lines back together again - in the drafts there had been many odder configurations - and now that the thing is compressed, it may regain its spring. But it was my birthday today...so I won't care until tomorrow.

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