by Allan Haslinds
Worn-leather shoes slide on, a hat settles at a solid angle.
Pushing aside the dull metal of a too-light screen door,
I go tripple-bippling down unpainted steps
into the yellow and blue of the morning.
Flecks of the lane leap adventurously skyward,
carried aloft by caprious gusps--earthbound no longer,
only to be faithlessly abandoned
upon rails of fences, brims of hats, and the bridge of my nose.
Tiny jewels of perspiration become smears of bourbon-coloured ink,
sloo-boozing slowly down my cheek and brow,
blooming into dirty beige clouds on my white collar,
like coastlines on some long-dead explorer's map.
The smooth warm leathers of my soles
know the way, shubuffling along the quarter mile,
guided along by rich peals of a ripe bell,
no one ever needed a map to find this House.
Author's Note: If you only knew how ironic...
Posted on 04/08/2003
Copyright © 2021 Allan Haslinds
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Thomas K. Hunt on 04/08/03 at 04:51 PM|
this is outstanding...I see it as waking on a Sunday morn after a night of maybe having to much to drink, pulling youself together and walking to church......the imagery is wonderful
|Posted by Anne Engelen on 04/08/03 at 08:24 PM|
it seems like it's rather tough waking up on Sunday Morning, but on auto-pilot you just finish the weekly routine.
|Posted by Kate Demeree on 04/08/03 at 10:30 PM|
To me.... it sounds as if, you know the way home, blindfolded. Several of the immages brought to mind a beloved friend... and priest.
|Posted by Stephanie Kent on 04/14/03 at 06:57 PM|
Tis is wonderful. Your imagery is incredible...I like the fact that you make up words!
|Posted by Ginette T Belle on 04/15/03 at 07:52 PM|
warm and comfy...it feels good...
|Posted by Leonard M Hawkes on 04/17/03 at 04:16 AM|
Wonderful work--it makes me curious. You write very well--moving images, well constructed, not overdone.
|Posted by Maryellen Lebeda-Parra on 04/17/03 at 03:20 PM|
thoroughly enjoyable read ... i liked this a lot. it is very comfortable.
|Posted by Rommel Cruz on 04/25/03 at 05:04 AM|
sometimes i wonder how i went throught the day without knowing what i was doing. lol. maybe anne is right, autopilot just kicks in.
|Posted by Alex Smyth on 05/14/03 at 02:18 AM|
Reprobate Soul? Have you ever heard "Sunday Mornin Sidewalk" by Kris Kristofferson? Reminds me of the same feel. Your descriptives evoke a shabby comfortableness, like old leather shoes...
|Posted by Jeanne Marie Hoffman on 07/17/03 at 04:37 AM|
I posted in the poetry clinic on this, but I just wanted to reaffirm that I really like this poem. I especially like this line: "I go tripple-bippling down unpainted steps"
|Posted by Jean Mollett on 07/20/03 at 06:32 AM|
Good one. I spent sunday morning in church and night. I can walk to it, so close. If it's not too hot, etc. Then relax afterwards, eat lunch, etc. Supper before I go that night. We're having an Inernational dinner this Sunday evening. Jean
|Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 07/20/03 at 06:18 PM|
"tripple-bippling", "sloo-boozing","shubuffling" all fascinating "word" formations in a very warm description of a walk to church. I feel like I am walking with you. Great read!
|Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 07/20/03 at 06:29 PM|
OOPs! Congratulations on POTD.
|Posted by Alex Smyth on 07/20/03 at 09:12 PM|
Congratulation on POTD! One of my favorites!