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Array ( [sid] => 183842 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Fifth Stage of Cancer [time] => 2016-12-21 05:25:49 [hometext] => I do not have cancer and am not dying. Like John Donne, I spend embarrassing amounts of time in contemplation, not fear, of death. [bodytext] =>

Beyond rectangular invisible sand laughter caroms,

muted bouncing sunshine

pierce leaded panes this day;

the yellow caravan of squealing squalling wheeled shoe boxes lumber,

wheezing as ever they do round this time.

The view is null, no stir rattling this slumbering recalcitrant soul.

Hark! my bell tolls, neigh on The Fifth Stage-

those sneaky children, one through four,

deliberatively stole fast upon me in slippered feet,

mindful to a longer time beyond any clock I could wind,

as if I could,

keyless infant me to eternal works and peals.

Na’ a single thee nor thine, nary a heart chill but mine in lone company

this Tuesday afternoon;

dogs romp, birds trill, heedless to these mighty reverberations, keen though both be.

Oh! You banging! clanging! whispering insipid Fifth Stage bell

as your clapper slams home my final knell.

So! you, I see, like me,

soon mere be aught an echo of an echo.

Words, alive now! intrepid spring from dozing pages,

allowing as letters drape into chiffon words upon my eyes,

thence to heart,

to hear;

else how to ken so singular a brassed pitch?

Tis indeed be heavy toll extracted /'/pon a foisted ticket.

Without option, I take a seat from a lifetime

for the early,

too early showing of

The Fifth Stage. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 208 [topic] => 74 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => surreal )

The Fifth Stage of Cancer

Contributed by invierno on Wednesday, 21st December 2016 @ 05:25:49 AM in AEST
Topic: surreal

Beyond rectangular invisible sand laughter caroms,

muted bouncing sunshine

pierce leaded panes this day;

the yellow caravan of squealing squalling wheeled shoe boxes lumber,

wheezing as ever they do round this time.

The view is null, no stir rattling this slumbering recalcitrant soul.

Hark! my bell tolls, neigh on The Fifth Stage-

those sneaky children, one through four,

deliberatively stole fast upon me in slippered feet,

mindful to a longer time beyond any clock I could wind,

as if I could,

keyless infant me to eternal works and peals.

Na’ a single thee nor thine, nary a heart chill but mine in lone company

this Tuesday afternoon;

dogs romp, birds trill, heedless to these mighty reverberations, keen though both be.

Oh! You banging! clanging! whispering insipid Fifth Stage bell

as your clapper slams home my final knell.

So! you, I see, like me,

soon mere be aught an echo of an echo.

Words, alive now! intrepid spring from dozing pages,

allowing as letters drape into chiffon words upon my eyes,

thence to heart,

to hear;

else how to ken so singular a brassed pitch?

Tis indeed be heavy toll extracted /'/pon a foisted ticket.

Without option, I take a seat from a lifetime

for the early,

too early showing of

The Fifth Stage.

Copyright Â© invierno ... [ 2016-12-21 05:25:49]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: The Fifth Stage of Cancer (User Rating: 1 )
by pooper on Wednesday, 21st December 2016 @ 09:35:40 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Brilliant work..I enjoyed your work.

Thanks Ron

Re: The Fifth Stage of Cancer (User Rating: 1 )
by softerware on Thursday, 22nd December 2016 @ 08:43:52 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Your poems seems to be speaking to itself as it emerges from your thoughts. WORDS, ALIVE NOW! INTREPID SPRING FROM DOZING PAGES ALLOWING AS LETTERS DRAPE INTO CHIFFON WORDS UPON MY EYES...This is indeed a dreamscape, almost half awake in a sultry haze of surrender. You are imagining futures as they could be, but are not. A fine exercise for sharpening the appreciation of a very valid present!
softerware

Re: The Fifth Stage of Cancer (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Saturday, 24th December 2016 @ 12:28:49 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

superb, alarmingly so
no fifth stage they say
when you are already
done for...
Yet, the mode of tragedy
is singular to anyone individual
life.
there is no need for any poet
to explain, wisely some what
I say, that life turns itself in
so many ways to unravel
our thoughts, little imprints
of thought, we are not immune
not a one of us is.
Towards the sublime what
someone thinks is not a wish
or any type of pronouncement
in real time stating just what
they might say could be misinterpreted
some other way and often is.
This is not what you are, cancer
or any death sentence is not what
anyone truly is.
Yet, the fifth stage is
but I would not say that to someone
dying, because I want someone
to remember me, for who I am.

Great poem!!!
Peace!

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