Forward

Putting his best foot first off the ledge of the bed, 
As the sun slowly glistened outside, 
Striking its rays at the ground in installments,
The tired bed-covers hugged the floor, 
And he arranged his feet level to the door. 
His habits reflected conditions,
And he practiced life like it was his religion.
What felt strange then was the complicated information;
The distance between him and the door,
Could be the same as him and his past. 
If it was locked in dimensions of numerical measurements, 
And pensive estimations. 
Maybe all that was suspended between today and yesterday, 
Was a brick bedded bridge. 
He made his way back to then. 
And he held the door undone for a while, 
He was open for the time. 
Don't let him see through the clocks, 
Now running races before his eyes, 
He twisted their arms to meet, and to lap over one another, 
And when what he was winding was wound, 
What he was finding was found. 
The separation and space, 
Was a little more than his legs could fathom without numbing. 
So, he went back to sleep, 
In his favorite place, 
Next to the sunrise, 
Wearing water on his skin. 
 

Published by

Watt

It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

47 thoughts on “Forward”

  1. The part about the door, and the clocks… wow. The entire poem is mind-bending, the ambiance is everlastingly finite… and so many excellent quotes I’d love to lay here, but those last four lines… spectacularly divine. Such beautiful peace, and comfort, and elemental acceptance of a dewy, sunbright… now. Thank you… for this lovely ending. <33

    Liked by 2 people

    1. “everlastingly finite” and “spectacularly divine” praise indeed of royal levels. We do accept the dewdrops of comfort in elemental acceptance, and that’s how we stay easy before the going gets tough.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Very well written- There’s some great imagery up here.
    ‘Don’t let him see through the clocks,
    Now running races before his eyes,
    He twisted their arms to meet, and to lap over one another,
    And when what he was winding was wound,
    What he was finding was found.
    The separation and space,
    Was a little more than his legs could fathom without numbing.’
    This whole part was great. Throughout the poem you seem to expressing something very true both to the reader and yourself- something that we don’t want to be and want to be; both at the same time.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. A very skillful rendering of a pas-de-deux between a man, ballet toe touching the ground, and another man, yet to become, half way through the open door, legs no longer on the verge of signaling numbness…….sun rising.

    Very skilled, Poet. Sarah

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you very much. I guess he pirouetted steeply out of some spots, missed some corners because it took you some to conclude. Is there a section you disagree with?

      Like

      1. There is style. And content.

        Your style is so captivating that it seems to me often that it overshadows content, diminishes it to the size of a small ball tossed almost out of sight and site.

        I should not comment on the content because that speaks to where you are and what would I know of that beyond what you say and why should I have anything to say about that?

        Except to say that, in the end and in the middle also, content is the more important and style is merely the platform, engine, weapon and fortress of that content.

        Often, it takes me time to scale your fortress, stopped here, beguiled there, by the sounds you create.

        This time, I found you at pas-de-deux exercises of the greatest skill. You went to sleep. I left.

        Found my world burning, people running on my street, people kneeling for exactly 8 minutes and 46 seconds and asking for justice.

        Delay in my comment on your latest post while I watched the mayhem wondering what I can do when ‘peace’ has returned. When I turned round, you were asleep. I fell asleep. Delay .

        Sarah

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Out of sight and site? Then that is certainly something I need to work on. A fusion of style and content in balanced proportions. Nonetheless, I thank your complimenting my style and alluding to the potential of the content.
        If I published it to the open public, on this e-sky that everyone can look up, then you can speak about the content, And one of the principles of aesthetics is its necessity to be critiqued. Fundamental.
        And the aggressions marking and wrapping your country in a tightening grip of mayhem are of course the primary concerns…

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Content comes with the accumulation of experiences and years, I suppose.

        There is content at available at birth, though, also, I think. Some poets – you also – have the benefit of the half life of this because we are all trained to lose it.

        I meant no criticism and I see that long apprenticeship in style is necessary for evaluating and living through experiences, sought out or organized by Fate.

        Style from the exact cut of a hairstyle to the choice of words when facing down whoever or whatever.

        Necessary, perhaps, but not sufficient.

        As is obvious from the state of our political and other ‘leadership’: so much style and so little ballast, heft, moral courage. Leading us into the wall.

        In formidable shape you are, Poet. To me from where I sit. Sarah

        Liked by 1 person

      4. I took no criticism, I only took the critique.
        “Style from the exact cut of a hairstyle to the choice of words when facing down whoever or whatever.”
        Even when its bald, sheer.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. I admire you so much for the way you turn such profound and philosophical insights into words. Words that race through our minds and hearts like our own circulation, leaving paths of insight and understanding behind them. I love this so much

    “The distance between him and the door,
    Could be the same as him and his past.
    If it was locked in dimensions of numerical measurements”

    And in this piece, that door is open. (I noticed this in contrast to our other discussions about ‘closing’).

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Oh yes!!! I miss that collaboration. I’m going to read it right now. Haha
      Thank you so much, opening and closing, expansion and contraction, seem to be grounding movements in the lives of our timely years.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. The greatest content word I have understood is Amor fati (Nietsche): love your fate. Your fate.

    Then comes the non-Western process of learning how to submit to it. Every moment so long as your life is not in danger.

    Sarah

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Are we in the same place? Because you just accurately described the beginning of my days.

    There’s a woman at the bottom of all of this, isn’t there?

    Beautiful women. Damn them. Shit.

    Like

  7. There is so much philosophical beauty to this piece. One of these days, I’m going to think of a name to immortalize the “Watt-ian” worldview.

    The part about the clocks… a perfect word combination—the thoughts and feelings they invoke caused me to circle around and around.

    Liked by 1 person

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