every morning the sun looks in
in limbo in the city...
photo by dsnake1
every morning the sun looks in
Every morning the sun looks in with the gaze of a bored child.
Today, a white cloud, with a face of Jesus, floats past the window.
Every second that passes makes me wiser, not necessarily older.
My poems are buried in my pc, they have served their purpose.
Today, a white cloud, with a face of Che, floats past the window.
Disinterested pigeons waddle past on the sidewalk, fat and mean.
My poems died in scraps of paper, they have served their purpose.
The neighbours do not talk much, just smile, we have our secrets.
Disgruntled pigeons waddle past on the sidewalk, fat and free.
The mound of cigarette butts in the ashtray starts to smolder.
The neighbours do not talk much, some smile, we have our secrets.
A blind musician sits on the worn stairs, plucking guitar strings.
The mound of cigarette butts in the ashtray starts to sputter.
At 7 p.m.a police cruiser slides by quietly past the 7-11.
A lady in yoga tights walks her pit bull down the worn stairs.
Late day shadows are darker, who may be hiding in them?
At 8 p.m. a police cruiser slides by quietly past the laundromat.
Late day shadows are darker, what may be hiding in them?
Every second that passes makes me wiser, not merely older.
Every morning the sun looks in with the gaze of a bored child.
18/01/2019
**********
“What's in store for me in the direction I don't take?”
― Jack Kerouac
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019
every morning the sun looks in
Every morning the sun looks in with the gaze of a bored child.
Today, a white cloud, with a face of Jesus, floats past the window.
Every second that passes makes me wiser, not necessarily older.
My poems are buried in my pc, they have served their purpose.
Today, a white cloud, with a face of Che, floats past the window.
Disinterested pigeons waddle past on the sidewalk, fat and mean.
My poems died in scraps of paper, they have served their purpose.
The neighbours do not talk much, just smile, we have our secrets.
Disgruntled pigeons waddle past on the sidewalk, fat and free.
The mound of cigarette butts in the ashtray starts to smolder.
The neighbours do not talk much, some smile, we have our secrets.
A blind musician sits on the worn stairs, plucking guitar strings.
The mound of cigarette butts in the ashtray starts to sputter.
At 7 p.m.a police cruiser slides by quietly past the 7-11.
A lady in yoga tights walks her pit bull down the worn stairs.
Late day shadows are darker, who may be hiding in them?
At 8 p.m. a police cruiser slides by quietly past the laundromat.
Late day shadows are darker, what may be hiding in them?
Every second that passes makes me wiser, not merely older.
Every morning the sun looks in with the gaze of a bored child.
18/01/2019
**********
“What's in store for me in the direction I don't take?”
― Jack Kerouac
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019
Labels: city, ennui, experimental, heartlands, landscape, life, Poetic forms, social issues, urban
posted by dsnake1 at 9:39 PM
17 Comments:
Yes, really like the knowing, mournful sense of observation here - Life as it is simply rolling on and the life of a writer too - well impressively captured here...
I love the glimnpses of city life, love the repeated phrases woven through the poem. They really work. I really enjoy those fat pigeons and the smiling neighbours - "we have our secrets". I so love this poem!
Only a poet would note all those details, and build wisdom from them
Lovely sense of ennui.Nicely written!
Yes - every second that passes makes one wiser. So much to learn in this world. I enjoyed all of the details - the word pictures - slices of REAL life.
Really enjoyed this; the rhythm that felt like days passing, the images of accommodation rather than communication, the repetition. It feels like something I'd encounter to underscore images or descriptions of urban living.
Gosh Gee willikers! Those faces! Trust me, in this repetitious and vaguely supernatural and repetitive world we get older and wiser simultaneously. ! have thought otherwise, but I am older now. I LOVE this poem. How could a mortal possible have written what is clearly a view from the Gods?
I really enjoyed this circular verse — the observations and images are striking with an intermix of personal reflections and understanding. :-)
Scott,
thank you!
life is simply rolling on. :)
Sherry,
thank you!
those images, it’s easy. some are memories from a neighbourhood i once lived in. the pigeons, police cars, neighbours of dubious backgrounds.. :)
Bjorn,
thank you so much!
yes, maybe only a poet would notice those details. :)
I'm totally in love with this poem! All those nostalgic details – like a scene from film noir.
But – naughty, naughty! – you don't say what the form is. I love to play with form but can never recall which name goes with which pattern. Well, I can identify things like a sestina or a sonnet, which are very distinctive, but all these lovely repetitive things – I can never remember if I am reading a villanelle or a triolet until I look it up. I know this is neither, but what is it, please? (So I can look it up and try one of my own.) Maybe it's a ghazal variation?
You describe the city life with its daily ordeals so poignantly here! "We have our secrets.." yes definitely!
SuyashJ,
thank you! :)
Mary,
:)
i believe time makes one wiser (perhaps maybe not all?)
Chrissa,
i am glad that you feel that the rhythm of the lines are like days passing. the poem works!
repetition is a useful tool, i think, in this case.
Thank you for your comment! :)
thank you, Susan!
a little background on this poem. i wrote this on one tired january night. i really worked hard on this poem. i thought i would write a ghazal but ended up with something else. i wrote a lot of lines but threw out a lot too and settled for almost similar lines but slightly different images, then i arranged the lines to try to get a certain time frame, in 2-lined format, like days repeating itself. i spent many nights on this.
the faces! it was from a wall mural in the city core. yes, yes, i even went through many pictures before i settled on this. :)
Thank you Anmol!
circular verse, i liked that! :)
Rosemary,
Thank you !
i love playing with forms too, and there are many poems i wrote which have a distinctive shape, which *ahem!* i think i ‘invented’.
i started it out as a ghazal, so yes, maybe it can be called a ghazal variation. I worked the poem into a 2-line form,
changed the images just so slightly. what was missing are the dates and time before each line, like a diary entry.
i appreciate you taking the time to decipher the form. it is great to know a reader takes an interest in this. :)
Sanaa,
thank you!
glad you like the poem. :)
This poem has a whiff of the pantoum about it... like the repetition. Vignettes of city life.
You have very interesting clouds in Singapore... LOL
ah, a pantoum, a Malayan verse form, how appropriate. i am not sure this is a pantoum, but yes, a little whiff about it.
those clouds, once there was one that looked like a mushroom. scary, and in the evening too.
thank you, Rall, always glad to see you. :)
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