tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6627256068921784962.post8482805767533998138..comments2024-03-25T14:17:52.660-04:00Comments on JA Grier - One Writer's Mind: NaPoWriMo 2017 - Prompt #8 - AbsenceJA Grier (ee/em/eir)http://www.blogger.com/profile/10733447921892286243noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6627256068921784962.post-81941696988577053222017-04-30T21:59:14.512-04:002017-04-30T21:59:14.512-04:00Absence Counts: Going Home Again
(Poem written in...Absence Counts: Going Home Again<br /><br />(Poem written in response to 3 prompts: #2 - Longing for place; #7 - counting up and down; #8 - absence):<br /><br />The snow fell hard...<br />And then it stopped<br /><br />Driving back home to<br />Marstown through the ploughing<br />Windshield winter bleak...<br />Time seemed to slow down,<br />For a time, to a windless,<br />Lifeless,leafless wintry blur.<br /><br />Open the door...get out<br />Of the car: check the keys<br />Again - time to bring in<br />The news of the year to<br />The family's old, wintry<br />Home; bleak is the night...<br />The flightless light...time<br />Slows down (for now)...<br /><br />And you are home again.<br /><br />*<br /><br />(Bleak is the wintry death:<br />Four men die - alone - on a<br />Plane...<br /><br />While you were on a train,<br />South...back home to Illinois<br /><br />...onto the family's winter<br />Dream.)<br /><br />*<br /><br />Back into the back depth<br />Behind the back of the<br />Winter door: your keys unlock<br />The old, sterile garage:<br />Face mask in the window's<br />Glass: (a drummer's look -<br />Counting behind the lost-<br />Ness of days...all death<br />Behind the frozen,winter seeds.)<br /><br />Time to (enter): sit down<br />(Behind the mask): at the<br />Old, dusty kit behind the<br />Sealed-in (winter-tight) fro-<br />Zen family home (of wintry, ster-<br />Ilized, old and bitter dreams):<br /><br />(The leaves fell down between<br />Some trees; the sheets all <br />Called the numbered rock:<br />Count down, from 2, beyond<br />The 4...and I will tip the<br />Sock...)<br /><br />You've left behind no notes<br />To play (beyond the wintry<br />Time): death takes (not),<br />Some new, and rhythmic holiday...<br /><br />And you are left alone.<br /><br />The kit: it's gone.<br />No drummer's pad<br />To hit.<br />The death that took<br />The plane of men --<br />Left you without a<br />Catcher's mitt:<br /><br />The drums are left behind:<br />No stool for you to sit:<br />You click some sticks --<br />Count down t "4"...<br />Man: death -- it really sucks!<br /><br />-T.B.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com