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PYROWORDS

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Poem Number 486

she sat looking through the past, like a window pane as the rain cascaded in pain. Each drop a memory. Each trickle melting time.
Puddles of forgotten names and places, rising like the tides of angry oceans.
Pictures in her mind of happier times, washed away by life's anguish.
she remembers as painfully as she forgot
the howling screams that followed her down the hall. His tears
could melt cement
drip through the earth to tap the core
where her father's vacant fragrance waited
curled around the monument, its softer skeletal edge
She was falling through strata, erratic, fusing with the walls
reaching for a reality that was not there,
just one solid grasping place
he remembers as painfully as he forgot
time breaks a rock with water and air
but these tears, this sigh - they cannot fracture time
these tears may not fracture time but they have wet my blouse
I was a good person but everthing changed after he fell in love with the television.
"Speak to me Albert," she would plead.
"I'll be your little monkey if you play my accordion,
But all he could hear was the wind howling through that desolate and forboding place between his ears.
where there was comfusion and thoughts I'd never understand
and was cluttered with millions of depressing and beutiful moments that put him in a trance
Good news. Bad news. Daily strife. Now television took over his life.
butt television is a reflection of life it is no life to live but now entertainment rules him
now life has no meaning but is full of worthless memoies knowlage has no meaning to him and life even less
but life is more important than anything you purchase
but somany people forget that, if the world is going to die let it happen from a natural cause and not from teleivision or pollution
he surfed digital tides she leaked a vicious solution
it was hard enough to keep pace with the infomercials
hARDER TO REMEMBER.


Commentary:
i beleive that the first and second line has the best poetiic voice that I have ever seen and is a great description of the mind I have ever seen
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no no no the first & second lines are very trite whose your penonmenologist?
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i dunno what a penonmenologist is supposed to be or what he is supposed to be really good at maybe if it was a phenomenologist or something he might have a sanctioned thing or two to say about the matter but i forget what i am expected to remember about it but if perhaps penologist was the sly prisonilliterate intimation i contend that it was a disparaging perhaps slanderous jibe at the first speaker with whom i happen to agree; i just cant get the rain in spain falls mainly on the plain from tickling the brain a little too earnestly-- an unfortunate rhyme. really pretty though: each drop a memory. each trickle melting time.
--diogenes
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i dunno what a penonmenologist is supposed to be or what he is supposed to be really good at maybe if it was a phenomenologist or something he might have a sanctioned thing or two to say about the matter but i forget what i am expected to remember about it but if perhaps penologist was the sly prisonilliterate intimation i contend that it was a disparaging perhaps slanderous jibe at the first speaker with whom i happen to agree; i just cant get the rain in spain falls mainly on the plain from tickling the brain a little too earnestly-- an unfortunate rhyme. really pretty though: each drop a memory. each trickle melting time.
--diogenes
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did i stutter?
--d
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lol.... :) -v.
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did you stutter? i certainly didn't mean to offend anyone the poem for me starts out weakly but definitely works up some steam as it goes on i just don't think the whole pane of glass thing is particularly fresh but i do like the music of the first line & really it's okay if it's not fresh as long as it swings--lacook
and most of the poems here do keep up this work
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