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Poetry Magnum Opus

six degrees and more


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today a blank page is filled

with no recall of yesterday

tomorrow it starts again

when this day is forgotten


and each day is an aeon

of giants and monoliths

that rise in the fresh pink dawn

to sink in a black mooned sea


the rain spatters off cold glass

warm fingers reach for the pane

and so much separates me

from the rest of the world


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Oh, wow, G! I am usually wrong in what I read into so many poems, but you know me, I'll jump in face first if I feel strongly. This gives me a sense of how I believe I might feel if Alzheimer's were to move in with me. A sadness, wistfulness, knowing the world is there, but unable to be a part of it. Pages blank, day after day, with the second v. representing what else might be seen from the window. I guess, to say it makes me feel lonely sums it up. Beautiful loneliness. I'll be thinking about this one for awhile. Excellent.


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Lovely work G! Yes indeed, the title adds an entire depth to the piece. Fantastic well crafted images, and in one way, to me the writer's life. Each day anew, with the remembered experiences sinking into the depths, to be rewritten as new monoliths....


Nice work!



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Thanks badge and mq.

You might want to check out 6 Degrees of separation. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Six_degrees_of_separation


The poem also hints at my belief that humanity has risen and fallen at least twice. The interpretation of the piece as a whole I leave to the discretion of the reader. G.




This line:


and each day is an aeon


Wonderful. And there were two instantly brief flashes in my mind's eye that we HAVE fallen before.....

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Feels like a simultaneous showing of "Groundhog Day" and my main fever nightmare when I was a kid. Creepy.

from the black desert

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  • 4 weeks later...
  • 1 month later...

Geoff, I know you've posted more recent works, and forgive me for bumping this one, but I very much like how it takes observation to the next level. The speaker/poet is personally involved.


The first verse could be the speaker's experience, mankind's experience, or both. And though the second verse could, by some stretch, be introspective, to me it leans toward the macrocosm; the third verse kind of confirms it when the speaker somehow distances himself from humankind's triumphs and defeats. He is in his own place, and we don't know why:


warm fingers reach for the pane


... or is it the pain? As I age, it matters less why.


I also very much enjoyed "Arboreal Complaint," "the quiet joys," "Autumnal," and your latest "The chances of anything coming from Mars." Thank you for these, too.



Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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Tony. Many thanks for taking the time to read and comment: I appreciate it. My poetry tends to be a mixture of personal observations and experiences, combined with ( grainy philosophical) daydreams, intertwined with a lifetime of extensive reading. Perhaps if I'd had a more retentive memory my life would have been very different, :biggrin: although I have little to complain about in this mad, mad world. The "pane" (of glass) is an ambiguous metaphor: a segregation from reality: a Stephen King's "Dome" perhaps, or a hospital/nursing home window.

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  • 3 weeks later...
David W. Parsley

The last two stanzas are particularly original and moving. Nice work, Geoff!


- Dave

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