Mirror mirror mirror
hanging full length and beckoning on the closet door
the bed in the corner sitting rumpled a desk to the right sitting stoic
windows in either wall letting in the sun the breeze the rampant sounds
coming from the green grass ground.
two eyes hesitating looking seem a little uncomfortable
take in the rumpled bed the sitting girl the gleaming window the desk the books the table
drawn to the little form in the eye
of the colored light storm
dancing in the mountains through the trees the grounds the buildings—
their red stone soft in the light from the deepening twilight.
Reading books she lounges recumbent, soft and thoughtful
the mirror watching with eyes
brown and flecked and muddy
just like the ones that flick the page:
nick nick nick nick
she won’t notice the semblance for a few minutes yet
absorbed in ancient worlds,
swirling and Mediterranean and blue
moist with opportunity with mystery with ideals and values and potential
her mind races on a coast
miles and years and centuries from the room the storm the mirror.
Inside that brain
live doors doors doors
and on the bed she ponders, she reads and explores
and the doors
swing open fly open creak open
and the doors multiply in number
and she approaches them curiously. Curiously
she finds more doors.
In the book world she finds the keys to the doors in her head
plodding steady and infallible ‘long the paths from place to place.
The shady glade, green grassy glade
sheltering the doors—blue green red green yellow crystalline and dazzling—
she’s visited before
many times before
without opening the doors.
Before—before! Seems so long ago so far away from here—
they sat untouched ineffable distant and huge
and her hand would flutter to her side
before it could grasp the golden handles.
She sees her soul in the words on the page!
When she thinks—
brow furrowed eyes green and glazed
blood metronomic in its pounding tattoo—
paths wend their way
out of the aether they come dancing to bow and make their presence known
and the unmovable mover is proved;
Aristotle! you spoke more truth in one section of one book than most people ever hear.
Teslim,
she surrenders she surrenders she lets go
to the nature deep within her
tugging pulling pushing prodding
down the paths often dusty
behind the doors.
through them she finds the east the west the middle
Whirling dervish in the sand she stands and stands and stands
and stares upon the land
she’d dreamt of all those nights for moons and moons and moons
haunting music through the air finding a home in her ears until she looks up once again.
In the mirror things revert
to the room the grass the light and storm and desk and bed and windows
and those things she almost found die down die down die down.
I see eyes in the mirror a face in the mirror a girl in the mirror as I sit on the bed.
I am me that girl is me me is me is happy is yet incomplete
Awaiting the years
in my nest
for now I rest a restless rest, finding doors I’ll open further as I quest.
Author notes
Teslim is Turkish for commit or surrender.
This was an assignment for English, it's supposed to meet certain requirements, but I think I left those out and compromised the poetic nature at the same time, so it's rather a failure. But if you think there's anything worth salvaging, please let me know!
Does this work?
Comments
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Descriptive.
It may have failed to meet the requirments you were supposed to met, but it's not a failure as a poem. It's interesting. I get sucked in when I read books and the same thing kind of happened with your poem. I was wandering what was going to happen. You could maybe rework it a little but I wouldn't ditch it. Personally I think you could take out some of the repitition and you might change some of your line breaks. But I think it's worth working on. Great story poem. -
Not a failure
But then I never think a poem is. I loved it. I thought you did a great job of painting a picture both of the situation and of the perception there of. Well written and fun to read. Keep up the great work.
language: 5, rhythm: 3, subject: 5, tone: 3, form: 3.
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Introsuction!
Hi Nienna. I think this piece works if the reader surrenders to its meandering yet often intense portrayal of an introspective daydream which is at least in keeping with the languid sensuous reflections of a young girl.
I was kind of sucked in. Not all the repeats work as efficiently but overall i felt a sense of wholeness.
To say "less is more" for a poem of this sort would be silly in general but certain areas could justifiably be minimised thru a judicious use of alternate synonyms.
Because of the form I d drop the final rhyme and maybe put "seek" instead of "quest".
You are certainly gaining prowess in describing scenes and emotive reactions to musings both in prose and poetry.
I reckon the future looks bright enough for shades for this budding author exploring insights with a mature acumen beyond her tender years.
As always, Nienna, ambitious, honest and gutsy. If you don´t experiment you can´t expect to break the mold - you are destined to push the boundaries with this kind of non-compromising personal style.
Keep at it (of course!).
You might like to review this piece again at a later date for an edit or simply to regard the seeds of fruitful experimentation for future implementation so bountifully sown within this work.
Warmest regards
gG
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Introsucubus more like!
Thanks so much, Simon. I wanted very much to be able to sit down at this with a red pen and rearrange, rethink, reinvent, but my teacher wanted it the next day and I simply couldn't. I hope soon to be able to. My style seems to be leaning lately much more towards description--meandering sentences that might go on a little bit too long--but I'm at least enjoying the ride. Perhaps I am not as prolific as once was the case, but as you said I think I'm sowing seeds for future implementation with much more success now. I appreciate the time you took to look at this, and your insight! I've been neglecting my fellow devoted scribblers for a while now but I hope to be back to at least a fraction of my former self soon, hopefully with even more stories and poetry for my mentors to help me with. I always appreciate your supportive words. Without the help of you, Pie, lad and countless others here I doubt I would still be dabbling in words. You really are an inspiration
Thanks, from the bottom of my confused and still silly little heart, again.
Warmer regards, still,
Nienna
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