After smoking a joint,
your sweet smelling hand would reach for
paper. You'd scribble down lines of
a song for your fairy tale band and
i'd breathe down your neck,
loving your heartbeat every time.
You'd cradle me to sleep, and
i'd close my eyes in pretend.
Peeking through the sofa arm,
i'd watch your body move.
I'd listen to your whimper and
your voice turn heavy
with slight screams i never figured.
You were dancing above the creaking bed,
your partner's back bare and boney.
Dreams and moonshine
sing me to sleep
the morning promises last night
was a myth. You lie alone,
your hair damp sticking to your
face. Supine you lay.
And your anatomy,
every inch greeting sunlight.
You'd sleep until noon,
call me buttercup when you woke
and cook the same
old pancakes in geometric
difference. I'd stare wide smile
and love the only home cook meal i
could get.
Then you'd sing, low and
thick until the night came and
you'd roll that piece of paper,
smoke the darkness away for another
song of your never-happening career
until 88, where you abruptly said
goodbye in the bathtub with some
female hero flowing through your
fragile frame.
say what you think.
Sorry, you cannot respond to an archived poemReviews
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Hey iphios...
I've read this a few times now and I'm thinking this is another of your poetic vagaries, an imaginary character sketch of someone you've created in your mind, just like your imaginary gay brother who committed suicide. But it's good. I see this as a person you watched as a room-mate and secretly loved aside from his ganga-huffing propensity and lost dreams. This seemed written from the view of a wall-flower longing to be planted in the life of this person they shared a room with. The distance is good, and leaves the reader with the feeling that the character is left out in the cold watching through a frosted window what they desire. Though there seemed nothing worth desiring in the doobie smoker, there was still that lilt of desire amongst the rancor. A sad commentary on how we love even when it is hopeless and not really worth our while.
The spelling and wording is off in places, which I found odd given your usually orderly and well organized writing. No doubt kinks to be worked out in this free-write. I felt that these idiosyncrasies detracted from the flow and feel of the poem as I said "huh?" again and again. For example the "I listen, you whimper" threw me off.
Anyways, I thought it was good, iphios, at portraying and image and feeling. Nice work.
al
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Hey Al,
Your interpretation if very interesting and close. Also, i can't believe you could still recall that poem about the fictional gay brother; but yes this is fiction. I'm glad the feelings presented were clear to you.
On the wording, spelling, and all things off...well, i wrote this a few minutes before i posted it and before i fell asleep. But yes, i wrote this prose style and began breaking them into lines that would still hold as prose. The line that threw you off, is a line i wasn't feeling good about either. So thanks for the honest review. I'll get to work on it asap.
-iphios -
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I remember lotsa stuff, iphios
I gotta memory like an elephant and I log it all for reference so I can figure alla you folks out. It's my hobby.
I figured it was a quickie as you are always so deliberate and ordered in your writing. I always enjoy your reads. You write fiction well and your character affectations are always very believable. You do good work.
Cheers, iphios.
al
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Hi again, Iphios. And once again, a fascinating freewrite. I'm not sure of the speaker in this one, perhaps the poet, maybe the "partner", maybe both. But the time sequence of six years from '82 to '88 is filled with dreamy, nostalgic but real images: the joint, the breathing, the nude body sunned, the broken promises of '88, when the object-person in the poem, intrigued by another woman, slips back into a fragile frame and slips away from the poem's speaker.
Although I almost always find clear depth in your work, this one "slips" away from me, I must say. Might be me, might be the poem needs shaping up; don't know. You might also want to proofread carefully for some typos that seem to get in the way of clarity, otherwise they wouldn't really matter.
All in all, though, this time-travel piece is alluringly delicate with its feelings, always one of the skills I like in your work, and this one has a terribly dark and lonely center to it - not at all a problem for me: some of my best friends are dark and lonely! I just wish I could enter the poem with more confidence. Tell me what I'm missing...
Lad. Rewarded 8
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Hey Lad,
This poem was written last minute---before heading to bed. I posted it immediately on the site, but is requires some repairs. I won't spill the beans on this one yet. I'll fix it and i hope you could read it again. I suppose its those ugly line breaks and spelling that threw you off. Thanks for expounding. Its always good to hear from you.
-iphios
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hey iphios
man i thought the hippy days were over and not only that but scorned as unproductive and self-destructive but this paints those days with a sweet nostagalia that indicate much more interesting times than the present.
dave. Rewarded 4
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Hey dave,
well i didn't mean to bring back the hippy days but glad the poem reminds you of it. Tells me the poem is vivid. thanks for the read.
-iphios
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Purple haze feeling
A lot of vivid imagery here, Iphios. Sort a of a semi-romantic smoky day dream. Jimmy Hendrix’s Purple haze echoed in my head while reading this. A bit rough around the edges but all in all a very entrancing read.
Bill
. Rewarded 4
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Hi Bill,
Hendrix? Wow, but i think you get the feeling spot on. It does have that Purple Haze feel to it. And i agree, this poem is rough around the edges. I'm playing around with this one. I still haven't found the write line breaks, but i do not want to remove any word from it. But i'm glad is still entranced you.
-iphios
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You pegged something here Iphios...
and I think it's a process, and I can identify with it because a joint is, hopefully but not always, available as the first step in that process for me. Get stoked and write it down, and if there's music involved then that helps to define the form and structure of the piece.
I think you could leave the first two lines out. See what you think. The rest of it reads really well and has a continuity and progression to it. "The morning promises last / night was a myth." don't get it.
I think you oughta change "wake" to 'woke.'
Other than that this could have been in the Chelsea Hotel or somewhere in a shack out in Kansas, but we do know when. Most of my stuff at this same time was written for guitar so I appreciate the emotional heft of it. Thanks, MJ. Rewarded 8
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Hey MJ,
Your review has been helpful. Yes, it seems this poem reflects a particular time that i never thought i recreated in this poem. The first two lines are the reason the poem came to be. Somehow i was seeing this through the first colored TV lenses and with orange-brown looking furniture.The time period was not intentional, but i think once you start with a poem with a joint, associations are bound to form.
I'll take your advise on taking out the first two lines. I do think the poem works better without it. Thanks again.
-iphios
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I thought I'd take another look at this one, Iphigene, to see if you'd revised it as you said you might. I'm glad I looked again. The revisions are most excellent for my enjoyment of this beauty. Now, the meanings are clearer and the images ring with an honesty about that "joint" that is the beginning of the muse's hand in this poem. It's now so much more appealing and moving - a hazy but sheer and loving probe into the meaning of this 82-now-88 loved one, now gone "goodbye in the bathtub..." Really strong writing, and, as always, in your mysteriously dreamy voice. Brava for this one. Amazing what a good poet can do in revision - a true re-visioning.
Lad
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Hi Lad,
It was a pleasant surprise to see your comment. I was hoping you'd come back and tell me how it worked. The revisions are partly due to some helpful comments i got. Yes, sometimes some poems really do need to be revised and worked on for better effect. I'm glad that this still worked for you. Thanks again Lad for taking a second look to this poem.
-iphios
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Hey, Iphios. I think one of the primary functions of poetry is to serve memory. This poem is a stunning example of that function, the reminiscing of times without sentimentality; reminiscing with clear and exacting detail, and only a tinge of bitterness.
I like, "fairy tale band"-- we all know immediately what that means, and are already wincing for the end we know is coming.
"And your anatomy,
every inch greeting sunlight." You show so much about his lack of inhibitions by laying him bare to an open window.
"and cook the same
old pancakes in geometric
difference. I'd stare wide smile
and love the only home cook meal i
could get." To me, these lines again show so much about his personality-- the lack of experience in cooking, the lack of desire to learn how to do it right, and the lack of interest in learning how to make anything else. It just smacks of silly youth, when we could live on misshapen pancakes and not even notice because the world is still so new, we take in only the broad strokes. The eye for detail comes with maturity.
"song of your never-happening career
until 88. . ." The shoe drops-- the years spun by in a blur of music and joints and worshiping the would-be idol.
"good-bye in the bathtub" -- I know this probably wasn't intentional, but I got a little flash of Jim Morrison there.
Intriguing read, as always.
Pie
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Hi Pie,
I realized how waiting can be helpful. I haven't written any poetry recently, hence the poems posted on here have been around for quite some time. Often, i archive my poetry after two weeks, but these days getting comments on poems written almost a month ago made waiting a good thing. Anyway...
This poem was meant to communicate some sort of nostalgia, and yes a visit to memory lane. Though this memory is not mine and not of anyone i know of, it was meant to give you that old colored TV feel to it. And yes, there is bitterness to it. For in all our memories, even the happiest or most sentimental can bring some bitterness to the surface.
You read well into this poem, and im glad that those details caught your eye, as they were worked on, and thought of. I find it interesting that this poem brings back memories of greats like Jimmy Hendrix (mentioned below) and Jim Morrison. This poem, though not intentionally written to reflect any particular era when i sat to write it, it was a product of those movies depicting earlier bands and the life behind the fame. As well as attempts of musicians to hit it big and fail, while at the same time spiral down. Glad you liked this Pie. Always good to hear from you. I hope to get to read some of your new poems, unfortunately life has taken me away from this site.
thanks again.
-iphios
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Dun
February 18, 2008