Wednesday, January 3, 2007

Something about romac's latest post inspired this poem - if that nomenclature is deserved.

First Lines

Tragedy is a funny thing,
The moment you meet, you know
There will be an ending,
As inevitable as a sunset,
Whether it is a birth, a prang,
New Year’s Eve, in an elevator,
On the road, in a saloon or a graveyard,
And the things you say,
That just pop into your head:
"That’s a lovely hat; it suits the shape of your face,"
I love that colour on you; it makes your eyes so arresting,"
"Nice shoes; wanna fuck?"
seem so melancholy when they become nostalgic.
No laughter, not a belly-laugh, a guffaw,
nor even a chuckle
can dispel the sadness that settles on the mind,
like a cloak of night, soft, even, smothering, numbing,
- all hues diluted into shades of gray,
by time, emotional overload, ennui
like the taste of coffee grown cold on the windowsill
in the light of an overcast morning,
sweet, sticky, sickening – like blood on rain-slickened pavement,
never able to satisfy a longing for the warm, musky smell
of her rain-dampened hair
nor recall a single instant of joy,
nor ease the bowel-watering, lip-trembling pain,
funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha.



Rob said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Rob said...


A new blog?

Very good! Maybe an adjective or two less after "cloak of night", and deleting "sticky" after "sweet" to get the maximum impact.

But this is good stuff, and, yes an excellent first line that's made even better by the conclusion.

Scotty said...

Just popped in to say hi, Geoff.

Nice piece; I haven't seen the word 'prang' used in a long while.

Bandersnatchi said...

Wow! I had visitors!

Thanks for dropping in guys.

I haven't got the blogging habit yet - witness the time gaps but I will try to be better.