Game Suspended

[dedalus]

Lounging about, as we do,

in that limbo-like, that lingering time

where nothing happens, the now and then

where we find ourselves asking

which constructs are actually true,

and which but gatherings of desire,

simple deep derivative desires,

or if or whether or when

we retreat or get physically flung

arse over tip, chest over chin,

to be lost without trace, again to begin,

or to be stretched and hung, alone, apart,

shuttled off in rattling old cattle cars

to the rag and bone shop of the heart.

[David W. Parsley]

Nice to see you back again, Brendan, shaking out a thoughtfully lyrical piece that gives the impression of gathering itself into a sonnet in the closing lines. Tantalizing allusion to Yeats at the end opens a number of lower stories to add further depths.

 

Enjoyed,

- Dave

[dedalus]

An aged man is but a paltry thing,

A tattered coat upon a stick, unless

Soul clap its hands and sing,

[fdelano]

True musing for which we will never have satisfying answers. You kept it short and bitter. Good job. Yeats aside, my coat grows more tattered and Soul never could sing.

 

P.S. Still hacking away at the Irish Revolution. I may finish in another twenty-five years.

[dedalus]

It took us 800 years from 1171 to 1922 if you count the Normans ... and why not?

[tonyv]

A compact work with a metaphysical edge. Lyrically pleasing, too.

 

Tony