Re-runs of sports are nice events to command from an old armchair You have painted a wonderful character profile. It sounds like the self-induced coma has been a common reality in this one's life.

strumming my pain with his fingers
reality and without picking this apart
plenty really now-a-days can relate
deep emotional/emotions
well felt

Jude: This poem is a painting, along with being a poem. unlike the rest of your reviewers, I find the first two lines vs the last two lines to be the kicker. Religiously commanding a frayed chair. Now that is poetic. Then you go to watching the reruns of sports, and i think this is particularly compelling, because what is sport, if not action, if not interaction? If not, say, virility in motion, life-energy? But the reruns-- the man in the poem already knows the outcome, so really there is no thrill in it, is there? Perhaps the man dreams of a different outcome, on the tube, and, of course, in his life. I also disagree that life is all about choice. I have a big problem with the "C" word, and it makes my friends crazy. It's a conundrum, because I do believe in free will, -- and then i also don't. I believe that life is a grope towards pleasure, and the avoidance of pain. I believe that is the main choice, but unfortunately, sometimes the "choice" of one rules out the other. The self-induced coma, in fact, while sad, is a form of hermitism, which at the time in the poem, is necessary, an avoidance of pain, of people, of engaging with the world. The man is in a state of anhedonia; nothing is pleasurable -- except at this time, living in a bubble with beer and TV. And that is not pleasurable either, just easier (more pleasurable) than resuming a real life vs a virtual one. Sometimes we need the virtual life, don't we? This is, in all, a grim poem. People like to say to me -- tomorrow is another day. I usually say yes, dammit! But in truth, I have had to learn that tomorrow really is another day, and MIGHT be better. I don't mean to ramble, but i often think that people in seriously cold climates such as I assumed for 15 years, are worse off than living in a climate that allows some sort of communion with nature. Nature and science fiction help to bring me out of my blackest days. I would not dare presume this poem is autobiographical, as many have not, but I'm guessing it might be. If it is, i want you to know that I am often in my own smoky room (except not really) that is riddled with failure and darkness. Sometimes just the understanding of another fellow being can help. The man's inner and outer landscape are vacant -- eXCEPT FOR THE fact of reaching out with writing. The man knows he cannot go on this way. He is, at least, not too drunk to dream. so the seed of possibility is planted somewhere in his room, in his brain. I don't mean to sound Pollyanna, because i'm not. Anyway, it sounds to me like the man needs the coma right now.A defense mechanism. When he don't need it, it will go away. But there's the C word again. he must make the choice to live or to die. He must put the dog on the leash and go for a walk each and every day. That, and buy a plant to nurture, put out some seed for birds. There is a great poem by Robinson Jeffers about this. You leave humanity for awhile : "let that doll lie." (as in lie down). Connect with the non-human for awhile. Lose yourself in painting, even. instead of fighting the coma, embrace it. And I think that is the way to freedom. I may be full of crap, but these are my thoughts right now.

Storytelling in its truest form.

This makes me feel really sorry for Chester. . .

Unfortunately, so many live in a self-induced coma, but they are unaware of it or they pretty-it-up with luxury SUVs and well-fertilized lawns. The imagery here, as others have noted, is crystal clear.

I love your writing, and in reading the reviews of all your work, I love how responsive readers are to your poetry - telling of the kind of talent to which many of us aspire.

this is the fate of many Jude -- how sad, they permitted life to pass them by because they dared not extend a hand of peace or love to their fellow man -- peace and love-- Jon Michael

A sad sad picture, but very believable Jude and well penned as always.

Jude - You construct a tragic portrait with your vivid images. The emptiness of the concluding lines evokes powerful emotions.

when he awakes, he stumbles to the window
staring upon the inactive landscape

looking up at the complacent sky devoid of stars
hiding above the awning of self-induced coma

- David

The visuals are as real as the man some become. Thankfully you are not one.

Ron

Jude,
Grim, self-inflicted tragedy, but is there a way out for so many like this? I can identify well with "yowls of subconscious whim" and a "sky devoid of stars"...
This is compelling and unsettling as great writing often is.
John

What made this man turn away? The same pain that made him turn away those he loved? That is the irony. This write is so vivid, I can see this man clearly. The last two lines are tragically sad. A "...sky devoid of stars"...

Very sad indeed...Hugss

How sad this is Jude; but there is a time we need to extend more tolerance to others...especially if we don't know the mental or physical pain he/she is enduring. We never know if...when...there, but for the Grace of God, goes I!
Blessing and Love - Micke

How sad to choose such a life and it is a choice. Your poems always have a dynamic ending Jude and this one is no exception - so much said in those two line.
Hugs,
Marcia

Jude,

Nice oils in this sad tale...

So very sad, and it's often faithful old mutts like Chester who eventually become the person's only friend.

A great write that gives an excellent description. It's a sad picture you paint, but there are many people like the one in your poem. Is it the football games and beer, or is it some inner need to escape through the tube?

Potato couch, it is a wrong denomination, because the humble potatoes feeds a hungry man, whilst a self-induced coma one has converted himself on another stain on that couch upholstery.
And Fee knows one!

Georg

I think we all know at least one or two characters like this. Some it is their nature and they have been like it there whole lifes, others have had some type of traumatic experience that turns them bitter and aloof but there is also a third group who seemingly turn this way suddenly and without explanation. these are people who are suffering from dementia, Alzheimers, water on the brain and other diseases just now being studied. sadly all too often family and friends write them off as just being crazy and they do not get help to make them better again. Great write my friend.

Fee

The imagery here, Jude, is excellent. I could envision it all, and it reminded me of the character Clint Eastwood played in Gran Torino, but there you have a character who eventually changes, or better, adjusts, although at first, unwillingly. Life is all about choices and how we deal with whatever is tossed our way...whether BY choice or happenstance. This is excellent.

Exquisite detail, Jude! brings to mind the apartment of an alchoholic uncle I once visited when I was a 12 yr old! It made
a stark impression on me, just as your poem hes! sad,yet it
isn't unusual for many it's their choice...

love,
ET

such a sad existance he has chosen-well written though as i am sure it rings true for many

I think that we each have such a room tucked away in our subconscious and probably have dabbled there for at least a short time. A hopeless and disgusting aspect of self that we visit when we feel we are a victim of circumstance, when we accept no responsibility for our own happiness or lack of it. The difference between a life that is successful and one that is stagnant lies within the choices we make; within our desires and our beliefs. Where do we want to live? Holed up like a cockroach in a dirty old match box or to live as though we are a child of wonder, emerging into a bright new day. Your imagery is huge in this poem, Jude, and you reminded me of a time when I took a moment to visit that place. I too soon realized that I had no use for the dirt under my finger nails and the emptiness that comes from living within the brick walls that I had created there...though it makes for compelling storytelling ;) Brilliant!!
Take care,
Sherry

life offers many possibilities, all are free to choose...wonder if he is happy or even cares he is alive? Quite the room you've wandered through...I can imagine all sorts of energy has fixated upon his energy drain...do you ever want to whisper...wake up?

No matter what dogs suffer through anything won't they, and Saint's of course, but there are few of them aren't there?
Blessings! Jasmin Horst