Glass Tumbler
Some time during the night
a glass rolled off the sideboard.
Its smooth cone spun circles
reflecting the dark.
Soundless it continues to fall
as I scramble for a place
I cannot see the shatter,
shield my eyes
from splintered fragments,
cover my ears
as the hammer swings up.
This is the way
I wake from the dream.
a glass rolled off the sideboard.
Its smooth cone spun circles
reflecting the dark.
Soundless it continues to fall
as I scramble for a place
I cannot see the shatter,
shield my eyes
from splintered fragments,
cover my ears
as the hammer swings up.
This is the way
I wake from the dream.
posted by burning moon at 4:30 PM
2 Comments:
There is a wonderful sense of tension and build-up in the poem. The glass points to something fragile, the precarious nature of which you're aware of, something which is always there, even when sleeping.
I really enjoyed it.
Ah Alan, thanks for your good thoughts. You seek to alter the vision, but visions are what they are. Sometimes the mere appearance of the vision is the sign that it has passed.
Martyn, thanks. Yes, you got it exactly. I wasn't quite aware of what the import of this was myself until I read your comment, but yes, that was it. It was there so strongly even as I slept. Thanks.
moon
Post a Comment
<< Home