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Dust

by Richard Vince

The glass is more like paper:
Thin and rippled, throwing the light
In unexpected directions
And bending the real world
Into fantasy shapes.

As the Sun sinks lower
Behind the brick and concrete horizon,
Raucous young men return to
Their temporary home,
Discussing girls as they idly toss
A rugby ball between them.

She observes their slightly
Distorted figures as they
Wander away, before turning from
Their shrinking forms to
The bed, desk and dusty lamp.

In the twilight, all is
Almost monochrome, but she
Sees it in sepia, and her
Well worn pyjamas in
Silk and lace, its finery
Unparalleled, her beauty
Unmatched.

If only they had looked up,
They might have seen
This vision in fairytale fabric,
This bewitching figure
Emerging from the swirling
Scotch mist into their world.

But such stories have no place
Among such banal pursuits
As rugby, cars and beer.

So she sits down at the desk,
Switches on the dusty lamp,
And makes magic from words:
A poetic spell to turn
Her reality into dreams.

04/11/2007

Posted on 05/12/2007
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 05/13/07 at 04:36 AM

Very interesting indeed.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/13/07 at 04:39 AM

I really enjoy the looking out on the scene of the boys walking by, this moment of ordinary reality coming and going. You've given this woman a surreal beauty amidst her Scotch mist and her silken pajamas and one hopes she can write herself out of this sepia atmosphere and into real life. You have engaged me and I want to know there will be something more for her. Well done.

Posted by Eli Skipp on 05/14/07 at 05:18 PM

Grand stuffwhats, sir! Imagery herein is beautiful.

Posted by Amy Niggel on 05/15/07 at 03:54 PM

Well done. I enjoyed reading this alot. I love the opening lines. Whenever I think of glass I can't help but remember that its a slow moving liquid, thicker at the bottom than at the top over time. Very well written as always :)

Posted by Laura Doom on 05/21/07 at 07:42 PM

'If only they had looked up'...an intentional ambiguity, I assume, with regard to perspective, paralleled by more 'innocent' references to the same perceptual device. Some irony here in the blind conversational fog, and 'realities to dreams' is an appetising concluding departure.

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