Our Collective Repentance by Philip F De Pinto I live if that is the word on the face of the Earth though to tell you the truth I never really cottoned or warmed to the place although I must admit it is where I've done my best and worst impression of a human being and in so impressing I am preaching what I practice - the fact that I don't relish the fiction of winding up alone oh give me a home where the emirs and the cantaloupe play where I will have a lifetime but not have all day to bend spoons and forks in the road or bending your ear in the style of Uri Geller who is at present getting bent over by the forks and the spoons and the ears who were tired of thus leaning Go bend over yourself say the forks and the spoons and the ears collectively as well as the clocks who were glad to have stopped who don't relish the thought of renewing their ticking contracts tell Bender to go screw himself in the face of the Grandfather Clock that Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Greenjeans were so enamored of and then you sit or lay back for a million leap years - give or take a few and think that all you've managed to accomplish in your bare minimum of a life is to rise three flights in this building that I've habited for nearly fifty years the apartment in which I managed to rear and raise three kids even the child in me - where I rose and shined from for countless years so I could bring us home the bacon - where my wife burned countless pots and pans Where she breathed her last and where I did my best and worst impression of seeing to her wake and funeral as well as my own I've grown since then - doing an even better impression of seeming to be a human and husband and widower - hence bachelor and father and painter and poet - the likes of which are hardly fancied or read or spooned or forked over but all such articles are likely bending over in the style of what's his name these days? and screwing themselves in the face of the earth that we may all reap in retrospect the dolorous bullshit for Auld Lang Syne eating and partaking of such a fraudulent crop clearly a sign of our collective repentance 11/09/2014 Posted on 11/09/2014 Copyright © 2025 Philip F De Pinto Member Comments on this Poem Posted by June Labyzon on 11/11/14 at 05:13 PM This is probably one of the most personal poems I've read that you have written. One where you really put yourself into the verses which will live on this earth long after you depart. Posted by Kris Mara on 11/18/14 at 01:06 AM times like this, I don't have words to comment on the writing itself -- although brilliant, the brilliance lies in how your words drive down the page and into me as I read...and I'm just struck...right through the heart...at the raw humanity you have shared here... Posted by Coleman Demiurge on 11/18/14 at 07:02 PM Wow, I know you're speaking for yourself in this piece, but those first eight lines have summed up my existence perfectly. I'm not sure if that's a good thing, but I adore it nevertheless. Also, the lines: "as well as the clocks who were glad to have stopped; who don't relish the thought of renewing their ticking contracts" were also very evocative. Clocks as symbolism has always fascinated me; one of my favorite poems ever was written around that very theme. Anyway, you paint a vivid, poignant, and deeply moving picture with your incredible skills with words. You made me think, you made me hurt, and you left me in awe... Exceptional work, Philip. Return to the Previous Page   pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online All works Copyright © 2025 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)