I may waver
before my wavelengths
soar, gathered from pea-green
depths of bubbling soup,
fully measured
for spoiling.
Invited out
to doubtful places
we each must know, I'll step
blithe not grim, trimmed in
pretty-patterned
suits. Their smear
of plaid-scented
tears splashed with paisley-
flavored sighs, I'll rinse through
herringbone-strained smiles,
as the pinwheel-
peopled years
gargle my garb
fresh for bathing. Then,
to bathe I'll go, striding
on the bric-a-brac
bridge that spans the
forgetting
where I wavered
before my wavelengths
soared, and plunge in to bob
atop chic'ry-swirled brew,
fulfilled measures...
dissolving
— Francis Scudellari
(This is a revised version of the poem that I posted at Flowers of Sulfur a couple days back)
3 comments:
The feeling of dissolving, like in evaporation, grows stronger for each stanza. The "..." at the end enhances this. A surreal touch that is almost eerie.
I love the third stanza!
Now I will reread the version you posted at Flowers of Sulfur.
A man named Finite awoke and found himself in a sinkhole full of quick sand. He was sinking very slowly and knew that he would meet certain death.
A man came along who had holes in his hands. The man threw Finite a rope and told him to grab it and he would pull him to safety.
Finite looked at the holes in the man's hands and said, “Your not real.” “It is not scientifically possible for a man to live who has holes in his hands.
The man with the holes in his hands looked at the guy a little puzzled and said, “You are in a sinkhole and about to die. Your response to my help is to say I’m not real?”
Finite said, “Well, I like how warm the sand is and I really don’t want to get out. Second, I know I am having an illusion because it is not possible for a man to have holes in his hands and still help me out.” Therefore, morally I like my plight and scientifically, you don’t exist being a mere projection of my mind.
The man with the holes in his hands said, “Listen, I was sent here by my father to help people out so please let me help you! I will take you to my father’s mansion where you can enjoy life for eternity. Obviously, death was not able to hold me in the grave because the holes in my hands are proof that I overcame death. I now have the power to save you so grab the rope!”
Finite put his fingers in the ears and said, “Now I know I am hearing things because there is no such thing as eternal life…Everyone dies so I am going to take my turn and just enjoy this warm sand until the end.”
The man with the holes in his hand said, “If you won’t grab the rope, then I won’t be able to help you…please, please take the rope and I can pull you out. Have faith my friend.”
A few moments later Finite sunk into the quick sand and out of sight. Finite was surprised that he did not die as expected. He just sat there surrounded by sand, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to talk with his fingers in his ears. Finite tried to comfort himself by thinking, “I would rather stay here for eternity than believe that the man with the holes in His hand could help me. Faith in that mirage is irrational!!
So Finite sat in the quicksand for eternity. Day in and day out for eternity Finite was always thinking about the man with the holes in his hands. He would comfort himself thinking, “It was better to not have faith than to believe something that didn’t make sense.”
The man with the holes in His hands continued to call him for the rest of eternity; however, Finite could not hear his voice because he had plugged his ears.
The Lesson
If you are not with Christ, you will be thinking about Christ for eternity anyway... so have faith.
Thanks Jenny. Eerie was what I was going for.
ZDenny, Faith is definitely an embrace of the absurd.
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