UPDATE: see the end of this ramble. I did my homework. BIZZARE! This poem is based on a line from a poem read by a young lady in my poetry group. Somewhere, deep in my (strange) brain (see below), I have similar weird thoughts; I have deep, dark obsessions which are waiting to burst forth and take an atomic particle by storm. Great phrases will flow, which are somehow stuck, maybe due to the fact of trying to change handedness. But where did THAT come from? Who knows? My mother always said I held cards and ironed wrong-handed, but it felt right. If this is not an original phrase as title, someone let me know. I'll look it up tomorrow. I'm too busy lecturing my inanimate objects on their foolhardiness at the moment and dealing with their depressions and other difficulties. The desk, in particular, is way out of control. Both chairs need a spanking. As does this AD editor and its whatever-handed formatting. The couch needs a therapist, one who is okay with a couch on a couch. I looked up Perpendicular Universe, and the site is, how can I describe it? It speculates, among other things that these may exist: (WHO KNEW?) Other kind of universes include, but are not limited to, the below:
* almost parallel universes,
* not so parallel universes,
* rather unparallel universes,
* really non-parallel universes,
* universes that are not parallel at all,
* ass-backwards universes
* bat-shit crazy universes
* buck-wild universes
Perpendicular Universe
I wanted to be her, left-handed for one thing
even in my youth, when she didn't exist,
so I tried to write like that, not considering
what it might be doing to my brain, not knowing
that the brain controlled opposite sides of the body,
ignorant as to right-brain this, left-brain that.
I wanted to be utterly, redundantly, unique,
drag floor-length hair through long dark halls,
be thin as celery, write up and down like
Chinese scratchings, to have a really cool name
like Zaneeka, Urina or Atalantica
to say things like “the alone couch.”
The alone couch furtively eyes the lazy boy,
which, fat and happy, ignores the alone couch,
the righteous blazing-orange chair has no interest
in fat boy or alone couch with its cellulite pastel
pillows, snubs them permanently in a forty-five degree
angle, leering at the demonic desk, which holds
precious iron peacocks on top, and pockets
decades of smug secrets deep within dank drawers.
The prideful lamps think they're the only bright bulbs
around, and the towering, ecstatic entertainment
unit looks down on everything for holding so little.
I wanted to be left-handed and have a different name
never wishing to witness my furniture's freakish games.
Julie, you totally rocked with this one and yes you are unique and so is this poem. I found the origianality of viewing the world through the eyes or perhaps emotions of the furniture pretty interesting and yet also felt an underlying message of your own. Well done...definately should be submitted to publishers.
hugs
fee
Reviewed by Flying Fox Ted L Glines (Reader)
Reviewed on December 20, 2008
Ah, I'm glad that someone else knows about the evil furniture; with me, it's the satanic A/C and the ghastly frig. It's a good thing I have the kindly hot water heater to keep them in line!
Perhaps "..Quiet Storm" will help rekindle old flames buried and long forgotten or express the love so deeply locked inside of your soul longing to be released.
Regardless of where you may be found in love this beautiful masterpiece can be
Dear readers, this is my third book of poems, and inside are a special collection of what have turned out to be not only MY personal favorites, but also the favorites of many of YOU. Some of these have never been available in print before...
Share
Print
Save
Follow
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Edwin
hugs
fee
Giggles :-)
Ted