Dial turned from red to blue
Another pawn hoists her own petard
As wafting breeze ensues
Chatter monkeys stop their prate
To ballyhoo and promelgate
Precipitates musical interlude
Breathe deep the gathering gloom
Click to begin the day
Click ... click ... click
Steel doors smirk, so steal away
These clicks and ticks that agitate
Won't yield to crowds that aggregate
Blue waves bye, then bows and fades
Removes the colors from our sight
Inside the hirelings and prolitariats gleam
Embrace a transitory semblance
While directors set the mis-en-scene
Ample arena, now charged and full
No matador yet, just honed swords and bull
And waves of red that welcome blue
The curtain rises on the scene with someone shouting to be free
Players scatter off stage, first left then right
Til the misled, misheard are sorely missed
Which culminates in nasty fight
White yells at red and red at blue
With no apology offered for said miscue
Only castigation and punition
The indestructible has broken down, undeniable is turned around
Glass vase untempered, begins to crack
Water leaks and trills downstream
Efflux tinged in streaks of black
Click to red through endless trying
No one sees the flower's dying
Dial turned back from blue to red
Bedsitter people look back and lament, another day's useless energy spent
Cold hearted orb that rules the night ...
*Special tribute to Moody Blues (song lyrics in italics)
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Comments: 21
I love the Moody Blues. This is really a stupid poem about a bad day at work ... I was in a dark mood when I wrote it.
Nice work.
Speaking of remarkable, I found this " stupid poem" as you self-styled it in a mock effacing way (I have to believe you're half kidding, my dear, you know how talented you are!) to be lyrically fresh and ironic in its swiftly invoked and just as quickly discarded and then subtly echoed fugue metaphors of the dial-a-workmare, chessboard, the zoo, the eternal elevator, the presentational stage set, the bullring, the perpetual torture machine, even the drop that overflows the glass (in Spanish the equivalent of breaking the camel's back), all framed within the Moody Blues psychedelic hypnotic trance of the dying day--'the gathering gloom'--where in we feel the quotidian press down on us, the pressure of daily existence become life or death ennui, enervation of the life force, a necrotic bloom....
Yes, remarkable, Bonnie.
I'm glad I finally got notifications of your work again. Gather's finally doing something right.
"Stupid poem"? It's so nice to see John Walter and others tell you how "stupid" that remark was, Bonnie. This piece blew me away - I mean off my chair, away. It is also a perfect example as to why you "need" to write, always write. You not only have something worthy to say, but you have a unique gift for saying it in a manner that so movingly touches people, not with a push, but with a gentle touch and grace. What a gift you are to Gather and to those that read you.
I am especially honored by the presence and glowing praise from some of Gather's very best poets ... Nathan, John and David. You made my day!
I will be over to read all of ypurs too, very soon.
I enjoyed the poem very much! :)
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