Internally Conversating with The Weather -------------------------------------------
A cold gray morning wet with drops from the atmosphere
She speaks out,
"The ground beneath me venerated in a bath of my tears"
When the sun does come out again everything will be in its place.
I am not satisfied with this cycle of events,
I could swim in the oceans of discomfort
The city WEEPS
Indiscretion hiding itself underneath the layers of variegated ambivalence
My heart dies with memories of summers of rivers and sisters saturated with water
pretending that princesses and mermaids and magical fish ruled the seas
Huge bodies of imaginative Lakes
are now just creeks in alleys littered with trash
Swept away seasonally, left only by an eroded visage
concrete eaten and rocky
making way for skint knees should anyone dare to travel here now
Skint knees with no glory
or tales of innocence
simply worn and raw
and exposing the bone
I look over the bleak edge of a bridge
The reflection of my smile lost in a rush of waves and addled water
I guess that someone recently accused me of being in touch with whats around me and what's in me and maybe understanding that there is no real line but that these are things you can drift in and out of.
I appreciate that quality here like there's some language here, and there's some language here that would have some reaching for a dictionary
(and sometimes that isn't a bad thing)
but what impressed me was how
the looking glass was stretched with validity
like the scenes become real because
you care about these things.
So. I was impressed,
I was excited to read this
Like most really good prose and poetry this brings to mind so many possible scenarios of meaning. I get the feeling that the she in this is mother nature, that you're no longer satisfied with the endless cycles of her process.
When my wife was pregnant and even after my daughter was born I was extremely depressed about the state of the world, the realisms of social intercourse and human interaction. I wanted to change the world so it could be clean and nurturing to the new life that was about to become aware of its surroundings. The truth of the situation was no longer veiled by my youthful optimism. My knees seemed skinned to the bone from all the stumbling blocks that were out to trip me up. It all seemed so stark and bleak. Then I thought of all the love that would make it seem worthwhile to be said earnestly industrious endeavoring. Of parents indeed personify said protest and I like to think mother nature agrees.