Mine is the topmost room
I can observe the world
People's joys and sorrows
Thunderheads anger to come
Neighbor is striding home
Wife prepares garden party
Extravagant nonsense
But I am not invited
Kids play on the sidewalk
Hopscotch now all chalked in
Little ones laugh and skip
Soon rain will clear that away
Silver haired man now knocks
Sharply on the front door
Time for my therapy
Veins in my head start throbbing
I try to clear my mind
To face today's session
But can't help lagging
Wish I was a kid again
Oh to be what I'm not
A little lamb again
Instead of a fierce wolf
Before the storm blows right in
Image found at www.pinterest.com
Many lives have been devastated by storms.
ReplyDeleteInternal storms are harder to weather than external ones...can we wipe our memories and make the skies blue or do we live, learn and take up the topmost room of knowing (i too love top floor windows..there's something otherworldly about them)
ReplyDeleteStormy weather seen from the topmost window can be most revealing. In real life one may be able to do something to ward off Impending tales of concern or disaster with prior knowledge!
ReplyDeleteHank
The inner turmoil are the strongest storms that we face ~ Its a challenge to keep on going, and being appreciative of the everyday joys ~
ReplyDeleteThis poem saddens me because he remembers that time long ago when all was well in his world before it all came to this and all he had to face was sadness and thunder and his daily 'sessions.'
ReplyDeleteThis poem speaks on so many levels.. the image of the storm.. whether internal or as an external force is difficult to handle. Well penned.
ReplyDelete"Oh to be what I'm not"...ingredient of inner storm...love this layered poem...
ReplyDeleteI think there are many of us who wish to be what we are not. Just what are we supposed to do with those wishes anyway?
ReplyDeleteA fascinating poem, full of such a wealth of associations!
ReplyDeleteThis is so deep and powerfully written - it hit me right in the heart. Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteA wonderful write, wishing to be a lamb instead of the old wolf (of course I prefer the old wolf!), looking from the topmost floor. Not being invited to the party is sad. That picture is very arresting. Looks like a giant turkey in the sky!
ReplyDeletea hankering for innocence; yet this is something only the heart can unlock
ReplyDeletea really interesting poem a treat read on this Sunday
much love...
Loved this...wishing we were young and carefree again....letting rain wash us clean to start again yet now our lives as adults are throbbing veins many days with thunder and wishes.
ReplyDelete"Despair" well written.
ReplyDeleteZQ
Beautifully drawn. I am right there - a shadow - puttering behind you ... the hairs on the back on my neck, bristling, waiting for that storm to hit.
ReplyDeleteA tender poem full of sadness. It's hard to feel rejected by life with only a big storm to count on. I like how this poem progressed. I felt it revealed the narrator's inner soul.
ReplyDeleteA wonderful picture of melancholy you painted with your words. I could literally see the storm coming.
ReplyDeleteNot being invited to his own wife's garden party..now that could be a blessing, but it makes one wonder just a smidge if it will come up in his 'session' or not!
ReplyDeleteIt was the neighbors wife. No affair going on, the narrator is just an observer.
DeleteGetting long in the tooth can cause longing for carefree and woolly days.
ReplyDelete...on longing...woulda, coulda, shoulda....as we look back, it seems so clear...
ReplyDeleteVery intense imagery, Old Egg. Sometimes getting lost in old memories of being young is nice. I feel your yearning in this. But I bet you wouldn't change it because of who you've become today. Very wonderful writing. Love the picture too.
ReplyDeleteThis piece reminds me of an old sci-fi Twilight Zone episode where an elder man seems to find his youth again and encourages his fellow residences of the retirement home to play 'kick the can'. Often the rules of such places do take the fun out of living the rest of ones life.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your kind words on 'The Sound of One Hand Clapping'. It is the astute parent, I think who can take the child who feels different and make them feel welcome as well as valued. But that doesn't always happen.
WP doesn't like certain spellings of words - I think it depends on what side of the pond one is writing on... if I try to put in a European spelling of a common word the WP spell check balks. Though I ignore it when I know I am right :) Occasionally I 'fat-finger' a misspelling - so like you I check.
I did write another piece with this list but it isn't up yet. Again - thanks for stopping by, even though it was the wrong list. Cheers, Jules
Oh, to be that and to be more, yet, you're a fine poet, sir, ask not for anything more. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteGreetings from London.
From the mists of wonderful youth ... to old age .. and all it's problems - a poignant write ...
ReplyDeleteI love observing things around too..
ReplyDeleteAnd now I wish I was a child too :)