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Array ( [sid] => 154254 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Gabberwag [time] => 2009-10-20 03:48:07 [hometext] => A nonsense poem. Like Jabberwocky, it approaches actually being about something but not really. Darker than Jabberwocky. Also, it was a fanciful experiment that began with the patterns, not the thoughts. [bodytext] => Shooting along too fast to stop and learn
Of a vast, still other. But, oh, the slow
Fleetings warn. Didn’t you want to see—
But no, better to brag of loves that break,
Searing, as a long and persistent pulse, one,
Explodes. Lonely, to fizzle away and pass,
Scintillating an early self too soon.

Ruining all, refused, afraid to turn
Again graced, kept running, but now you know
Something down deeper and have to flee,
To hold distant a vague regret and ache,
Feeling that it’s finished and now complete, done,
It’s yours. Own the second, your face in glass,
Reconciling a pattern to its tune.

Mourning for love you didn’t dare to yearn,
Though a trace, light touching inspires the flow:
Sunrise-Noon-Nighttime—or else a tree.
A tree? Something innate you couldn’t make
Trying—all the others you sought, you found none
Exist. Awful, to contemplate only grass,
Mediating a year without a moon.
[comments] => 0 [counter] => 161 [topic] => 64 [informant] => KenSears [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous )
Gabberwag

Contributed by KenSears on Tuesday, 20th October 2009 @ 03:48:07 AM in AEST
Topic: ambiguous



Shooting along too fast to stop and learn
Of a vast, still other. But, oh, the slow
Fleetings warn. Didn’t you want to see—
But no, better to brag of loves that break,
Searing, as a long and persistent pulse, one,
Explodes. Lonely, to fizzle away and pass,
Scintillating an early self too soon.

Ruining all, refused, afraid to turn
Again graced, kept running, but now you know
Something down deeper and have to flee,
To hold distant a vague regret and ache,
Feeling that it’s finished and now complete, done,
It’s yours. Own the second, your face in glass,
Reconciling a pattern to its tune.

Mourning for love you didn’t dare to yearn,
Though a trace, light touching inspires the flow:
Sunrise-Noon-Nighttime—or else a tree.
A tree? Something innate you couldn’t make
Trying—all the others you sought, you found none
Exist. Awful, to contemplate only grass,
Mediating a year without a moon.




Copyright © KenSears ... [ 2009-10-20 03:48:07]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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