... only Day 7, still 23 to go!!!!!!!! The word NaPoWriMo will forever remain etched on my brain after all this. It's at points such as these that I realise that I'm DEFINITELY not a completer-finisher...!! :)) xx
PS... And, truth be told, I have a black-humoured pet-loss poem waiting in the wings but I haven't yet the guts to post it... Kind of Roald Dahl-esque, if you can stomach it (... sorry!)
They touch-in travel cards
without raising their eyes
to my front-facing stare.
I check my mirrors,
release the handbrake,
give a wide, flat
turn of the wheel.
As we lumber forth,
all shapes and sizes
stagger down the aisle
or, tight-packed and seated,
slop side-to-side.
In out-spilling handfuls
or headphoned single file
I drop all my fares
without speaking a word.
Nearing the terminus
the bus falls silent;
just a brightly-coloured
flock of squeaking,
littered bench-seats
follow me home,
sticking close as if
I was their mother.
the herdsman, shepherd of a flock of humankind -- railroad engineers, airline pilots,bus drivers,taxi cab drivers et al, providers of transportation with a shepherd like aura - delivering us to "a" destination -- some or most, never to be seen again -- it is your characterization of, "the head phoned single file" and "or tight packed and seated, slop side-to-side" that clearly established the scene in my mind -- a scene each of us can easily relate to as a member of said group or as an observer there of -- you have taken the mundane and painted it with a brush of color -- given it life and meaning -- well done my friend Kate, well done -- peace and love be always with you -- Jon Michael
Yes, I can feel the loneliness of the situation. Maybe you wrote this as an exercise to create and describe this kind of circumstance. I like the sudden colorful end.
I had a friend in college who did her (Linguistics) Senior Seminar thesis on elevator etiquette and other anonymous encounters. There's this whole set of unspoken rules about when to speak, and when not too. (I like to break them all. It's fun.)
It all should sound robotic to me and plastic, but perhaps I'm too much the introvert-- I cleave unto that kind of clatter though. It's rather poetic in away-- where objects speak and humans don't-- cards communicate, benches, etc...
It's a different kind of quiet that makes you aware of what you're thinking-- aware of every sound around you, and yet it's not necessarily lonely-- so much hubbub and clattering, and wheel-screeching.
I liked this piece. There is something rather chummy about benches that sing to you and accompany you home.
For me, Kate, there is a definite sadness in the anonymity of this, in its 'order and getting there' necessity, we are joyless travellers ...but this all might be just a reflection of the particular mood I'm in...what cheered me was the final stanza, the mother hen, the mother duck with the young brood traipsing behind home
Early Works is an exhaustive compilation of the first decade of the poems and stories of Z.B.McClure. Included are family photos, rare personal photos, photos of 1st draft manuscripts of many of his early poems. Also some biography and memoir materia
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Axilea
Georg
It all should sound robotic to me and plastic, but perhaps I'm too much the introvert-- I cleave unto that kind of clatter though. It's rather poetic in away-- where objects speak and humans don't-- cards communicate, benches, etc...
It's a different kind of quiet that makes you aware of what you're thinking-- aware of every sound around you, and yet it's not necessarily lonely-- so much hubbub and clattering, and wheel-screeching.
I liked this piece. There is something rather chummy about benches that sing to you and accompany you home.
John
Newfie hugs, Rose