eMule -> The Poetry Archive -> Forums -> User Submitted Poetry
Dream Boy
We live in a song
In a partial image
The trace of an interior
Spliced and photographed
Heard from a distance
Scanned through the telescope
Of our friends’ eyes, he thought.
We tried to show him the foliage
Beneath the window. The notes,
High and slow, from the sparrow,
Outside our closed up lives.
We used every slight of hand
We could deal in the smoky room
Of our day. We even told him
There was hope, but he would not stay.
It was a gathering of dust we shared.
This one, though it has a plea of hope, is somewhat sad Peter. The last line really brings the feeling of nostalgia to the fore.
Les
Thanks for noticing both tones, Les.
You know what, Coolness Pete? I'm not sure if I like this one or not. I understand it, or at least I'm gonna say I do, but still. I think the last line threw me off. I'll do some thinking about it though. Cheers until!
Keep,
The last line does change what we can make of the poem, though...I think.
love,
Pete
Here's the latest revision of this one, after 4 years in my poetry workshop - not really that much different, but I felt I'd like to wake it up again:
Dream Boy
We live in a song
In a partial image
The trace of an interior
Spliced and photographed
Heard from a distance,
Scanned through the telescope
Of our friends’ eyes, he thought.
We tried to show him the foliage
Beneath the window. The notes,
High and slow, from the sparrow,
Outside our closed up lives.
We used every slight of hand
We could deal with in the smoky room
Of our day. We even told him
There was hope, but he would not stay.
It was a gathering of dust we shared.
I told myself I heard it in that song
A long, long time ago, wondered
Whose voice it was,
Found it was my own
Peter, I recall this poem, the modification you've made is relevant. I find that time often significantly changes how we view a poem, be it our own or someone else's.
Les
Me too, Les. Thanks for checking this out.
Peter
Spectacular Peter,
My best friend ever once said to me, "everything gathers dust, Bruce," meaning that each mistake adds up to something you can't truly ever get rid of.
I have a God Daughter. I swore on her day of birth to protect her, but the years went by and other than the odd hello (her parents had split up), I never really talked to her. Then a crisis hit her life and lo and behold the now 16 year old girl tracks me down. Her father, under going a mid-life crisis fled to Mexico and then without informing her, fled further to Italy. Her mother seems engrossed in a new baby and the step-father and then to cap it all off, her best friend committed suicide.
This poem is about a suicide, is it not?
This also reminds me of "Dead Poet Society." Very poignant, Peter.
Bruce,
Again, this poem tests the reaches of what the poet can know about his work and what the readers of the poem bring to it to complete it. For me, if it is 'about' something, it is about the stranger who comes into one's life and has to leave before he [or she] can be a part of that life. The 'Dead Poet Society' was in fact a very painful experience for me since it added to the break up of the world I dwelt in at that time...but that is another story.
I am so excited to see tonight that so many of you have decided to visit the old mule tonight.
Be well. Post some of your wonderful work and thoughts.
Peter
Nothing wonderful about my poetry lately. Too rusty for too long, although I am at least feeling inspired to write again for the first time in a long time.
I, too, have movies like that; ones that hold a special significance. Flatliners is one such. Can't think of any others off the top of my head though.
Be well.
Brucefur
Poitnant, melancholy, nostalgic, elegant, sophisticated.....just a few of the adjectives that occurred to me as I read this, Peter. A very fine piece of writing...among the finest from your extensive contributions to this site.
One question, though. Why include "he thought" at the end of the first stanza? It seems unwieldy when I read the piece aloud and I don't quite see why it is necessary.
Joe
eeeehhh aaaaaahhhh. Greatly enjoyed this one and was left with a sense of satisfaction after reading...you're pretty handy on a day like today 
great to hear that, Sherry. Makes it worthwhile.
hey, Joseph, I actually wrote you a long explanation about ', he thought' as the weakest part of the poem from my perspective as it was a device I used to distance/separate myself from the narrator when I was writing, that is, it is scaffolding that might easily be taken away...but the eMule ate it [the explanation].
Thanks for having such a good ear.
Peter
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 06/10/2021 01:58PM by petersz.
Dream Boy
We live in a song
In a partial image
The trace of an interior
Spliced and photographed
Heard from a distance,
Scanned through the telescope
Of our friends’ eyes...
We tried to show him the foliage
Beneath the window. The notes,
High and slow, from the sparrow,
Outside our closed up lives.
We used every slight of hand
We could deal with in the smoky room
Of our day. We even told him
There was hope, but he would not stay.
It was a gathering of dust we shared.
I told myself I heard it in that song
A long, long time ago, wondered
Whose voice it was,
Found it was my own
Peter, so I've finished thinking (4 years later). I really loved this. Made more sense to me without the add on. Maybe I'll get that in another 4 years. ;-)
Love ya Pete!
Ange