What I Heard When the Music Stopped

I waited by the window to push the clouds deeper inside my mind,
Deeper into the present, waiting for night to come.
The broken glass of might have been
Tracked its rhythm along my arms.
One sensation, then another, gone.

I still could not spell the formula
The pattern slipped away. The jumble of my memory
Took the place of what had been. I knew nothing
For the moment; gave myself away.
Heard the hollow in my voice
As I sang someone else’s song.

Read someone else’s poetry.

Every reach inward breaks
The surface connection – simple detail –
One day micro-molecular proximity,
The next Hariot’s excursions
From Virginia to alchemical symbolism…
Then the deadness of poetry at my fingers,
The bath heats up, my daughter needs her time.

One, the pain in the temples, two,
Losing touch with my feet,
Three…the clutter of too many doctor’s wishes
Reach into yesterday to obfuscate today.

The coherence always in that tactile experience
Misnamed identity. I give you back those cuneiform
Wedges facing forward…a daily manuscript, or
Mumbling to myself in the temple.
Some things never change – they are change.

Peter, you instigated, uhem...cough, cough, rather inspired, a poem.


When the Music Stopped


I waited by the window for you-
Mumbled to myself at the cracks in the sidewalk,
at the uneven surfaces
that are the path to my door.

The night you touched my memory
The clouds filled with promise,
I rose above the shards of regret,
Could not feel my feet.

I was taken by that moment,
Or gave myself away-
The equation was mispelled
Or a spell, like the die, was cast.

"jacta alea est!"

You said you didn't want to "go there"
Because there'd be no turning back,
But I was already there.
It wasn't a tactile experience.

Then you changed the radio station
When I was at the wheel,
Without so much as a word
For the song I was singing....

I changed it back once,
But a thousand times
For each time I didn't.
You turned up the volume.

Your embrace went cold like the bathwater,
You kissed me goodnight under the threshold
Like tomorrow was already here-
Like today was yesterday's news.

It wore me down, wore me out
Until you said I hadn't kicked you
To the curb......"yet".
I put you out with the cat.

I waited by the window for you-
Mumbling to myself at the cracks in the sidewalk,
At the broken path of might have been,
My son needs his time.

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 12/18/2009 01:21AM by UPMarty.

I like what you did.

Peter

Peter,

If not for your poetry, I wouldn't have done it. Thanks for being here and thanks for the inspiration. At times it seems that without you, e-mule would be no more. Thanks again.

Mary

What I've missed most for the past few months is the inspiration and imagination you both bring to this forum. I hope you have a prosperous new year and a wealth of inspiration in all your coming years.


Les

Les,

You are a vital cog in my poetic mechanations. I watch for your responses, not only to my own work, but also to the other poets here.

Thanks again for visiting,

Peter

and Les, what Peter said.