Shuffled seasons (for One Shoot Sunday)
The narrow aisle flows a river to a wall
Of white thought
What squares of light have no glow
On the surface of water?
Who spawns the flat bed of dreams my steps
Struggle to cover?
Imprisoned by air I breathe a stale paradise
Of jasmine blossoms
I hear the rain a hissing of limbs on trees
But the moon does not rise
Day ends at my door night turns the stars
Upside down
‘”Where is your walker?” “Excuse moi?” What tongue
Speaks in this land?
“You cannot leave without it?” “Why, who’s heading out?”
The grubs I picked wriggle
In my closed fist I am growing a butterfly
No one knows
In my bareness I feel drenched in dew my bones
Misaligned rattle
“Now let’s go back in.” “Who has left her?”
No one comes today
I draw a caul on the day withdraw into night
Retrieve what’s lost
The sign posts melt on the flowing river
My hair long undone
I shuffle the seasons: in my eyes autumn leaves fall
But cherry blossoms
Oh, he rises to me my cane I draw my arms a lover
Now my wings
Copyright (c) by Alegria Imperial 2011
Written with an image prompt by Greg Laychak for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry, winner of the 2011 Shorty Award for the Arts, the inimitable gathering place for poets and artists. Share with us as we do ours your art or poetry and your thoughts. Check us out.
Some excellent transformations occurring in through your imagery, expressing both sympathy and awe over the projections.
Thanks again, Adam, for such precious encouraging words!
lovely really well written and empathetic with the subject thank you
I’m glad you liked it, Kez. Thanks for coming by!
OOOOOOOOOOOOo very nice! I like this one!
I love that long oooo! Thanks, Elisa!
oh i much love the breathing of a stale paradise
of jasmine blossoms…
Thanks, Claudia! By the way, I so much love to leave word at your blog about how much each piece you write but I just can’t figure out how to work around the choices for my ID! This is to let you know how your lines never fail to amaze me. Thank you!
A fabulous take on delirium/dementia– so beautiful. I especially love these lines, Ali:
The grubs I picked wriggle
In my closed fist I am growing a butterfly
No one knows
In my bareness I feel drenched in dew my bones
Misaligned rattle
You did pick one of my favorite lines, Jenne! Thanks for your ‘fabulous’ words!
This is stunningly beautiful!
Thanks, MamaZen!
To touch the depths of dementia and convey them tenderly… nicely done.
Yes, dementia for me is a sad sad state. But I think it’s us who watch a loved one slowly slowly slipping away that deeply feel it. One day, their smiles will be beatific but not for us. Thanks for expressing how you were touched by my poem!
Interesting and evocative images
Thanks, John! Thanks for your kind words.
you capture well…love the taking of cane and lover there in the end…dementia scares me honestly…
I love that image of the cane, too! The lover is totally my ‘invention’. I’ve read that in that state, they hardly recall a lover, instead it’s their childhood they vividly recall as they slowly regress into a ‘womblike’ state. Scary, for us outside of it, but ‘beatific’ for them I suppose. Thanks again, Brian! (I’m awake this time!)
Excellent, one of the more distinctive takes on this picture prompt.
Thanks, Steve! One Stop Poetry including you has talented poets whose works are always excellent. I’m honored to be one of you. Thanks again!