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calm urgency
by Charlie Morgantranslucent raindrops fall past my balcony,
noiselessly they make unheard splashes
and as they silently fall to their death.
each raindrop becomes the puddle
each puddle becomes the raindrop
as entropy levels the surface.
would dead bodies, piled high
or spread out, and nameless
make a noise as each falls?
and each isle of man slowly
becomes an earthen driftwood
always afloat-wet, unusable.
to live is to die,
to die is to live
an offer to behold. 10/31/2005
Posted on 10/31/2005
Copyright © 2024 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 10/31/05 at 06:20 PM Chaz, I like that this is stark yet gentle and like life, cyclic. Title really fits. Thanks. |
| Posted by Terry Olynik on 10/31/05 at 11:17 PM Sir Charles - is this a thinly- veiled mockery of my poem "Frantic Tranquility"? |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 11/02/05 at 05:59 AM Good one Chas. "Ashes to ashes" and rain to rain.....Charlie |
| Posted by Kimberly Rhode on 11/05/05 at 03:52 AM Death bringing life - such a comforting thought. |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 11/05/05 at 03:27 PM I'm a sucker for cycles, so this absorbed me, though I have to admit to ignorance when it comes to thermo-dynamics (and/or more so chaos theory :) Perhaps they do make a noise, one we filter out, either because we don't recognise it, or more likely, don't want to hear it :) There again, absence often impinges upon consciousness more than presence.
I guess if a poem elicits a comment that's longer than itself, its safe to say the poem works well :)...or the reader is hopelessly confused - hmm - could go either way, or both *bemused grimace* |
| Posted by Kyle Anne Kish on 11/06/05 at 05:05 PM You've done it agai, Chaz, constructed a tightly knit poem which ends in a melodic crescendo of time warps and time of the essence. Your imagery and emotions in this piece truly brought me to read it again and again. Thanks. |
| Posted by Ashok Sharda on 11/09/05 at 04:06 PM Yes, one has to die in order to be born again. But what of those who live in their deaths? |
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