Chapters too, fragment in time

A poem of parts

I.





II. 
Light, warmth, sound, darkness, cold, shape.
Finger tips searching.
Finding.
Impenetrable shrouded shield, protecting, as muslin sentinel.
Fours on the carpet.
Food on the table.
Food on face.
Food for thought, everywhere.
Hope, promise …

… expectation …

III.
… hands up, who knows?
Gold stars.
Pink cheeks.
Red knees.
Stabilisers stabilising.
Imagination emanating.
Feet on the ground, running.
Pencil shavings on the table.
‘Kiss, Chase’ worn on the face.
Investigation, anticipation …

… impatience …

… 4 wants 5, 5 wants 6, 6 wants …

… 12, 12 wants 13, 13 wants …

… them. Her. Him. Him. Her.
Whom the heart desires, beating heavily.
The first taste of their chewing gum in ones mouth.
Tongue warm inside, exploring.
Candescent adolescence.
Green steps on uneven ground. Heartbreak.
Heartache.
Some give, some take, most all will shoulder it …

… a disco ball of sensory stimuli reflecting off every surface.
The panacea of tomorrow’s promise.
Contemporary conscious, wading into future, forecasting …

IV.
… Friday, grafting, gasping for liquid salvation.
Saturday, groggy, rasping for a breath.
Sunday, snoozing, stealing a moments moratorium.
Monday, moving, moving, moving …

… Friday …

… foundation building, counting digits in the ether …

… Friday …

… tripping over shoes in hallways.
Picking up articulated objects of mass distraction.
Pygmy packed lunches for little priority magnets.
Focus, commitment …

… sacrifice …

… the treasury of the heart, opulent, abundant.
Candles burgeoning, twinkle beneath bright eyes, reminiscent.
Belly full of cake, trying to keep ahead of the game on a full stomach …

… chasing something, always something to chase, trying to catch ones breath.
Wheezing through the weeks, drawing in the decades …

… sudden was the creeping tiger.
A quiet house.
Empty rooms.
Plethora of flora and fauna, lively beyond the window, by the comfy chair - an orange, black and white tail, disappearing into the long grass …

V.
… the jar of pickle, shelved, is from 2008, forgotten, beneath settled dust, and lassitude.
The children - children no longer - used to visit on Sundays, now so infrequently, it’s been surrendered to serendipity.
The joy of of the grandchildren’s laughter, echoed on the walls once more, added value from the absence …

… rediscovering long lost pleasures, one admittedly wishes they’d have spent more time in the occupation of.
So much time for leisure, and so many options, it’s difficult to get much of any done …

… reminiscing is chief conversation. Television is company …

… speculating how well ones faired, and benefitted from all they gave.
Wondering what could have been.
Scared of so little.
Scared of so much.
Embarrassment parted ways many moons ago.
Now, a graver companion strides beside, pointing to the endless horizon, looming; the knowing, the not knowing.
It is humanities torment.
The fear of finding out, and the irony of not finding out when …

… what does it mean to be human?
Complex, transitory …

… mortal …

… realising the trade off, for everything we get to see and feel.
We know the consequences, ventured regardless.
The pain of loss, weighed against the the fruits of love …

… sun through the window, sweet as summer blackberries, dappled on the skin.
The door ajar lets in an polar draft, sending the grizzlies into early hibernation …

… knowing what one wants, needs, and will accept is a wizardly talent.
One can wield the tongue as an artifice of considered dexterity for personal gain, or philanthropic pursuits.
Knowledge is a precious commodity.
Wisdom, expertise …

… recognition …

… lazy Sundays, lazy Mondays, Tuesdays …

… lazy Fridays, Saturdays. All days flowed and merged, in a confluence of time …

VI.
… seized joints, raptured long ago by some unknown numen.
To move about the room came with great effort …

… lifeblood flowing tepid, trickles in narrow vessels, arteries hardening, elasticity lessening …

… chest tightening …

… light, warmth, sound, darkness, cold, shape.
Finger tips searching.
Finding?
Breath shortening, labouring.
Singular.
VII.





© Darius the Mate


Written for dVerse.


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19 thoughts on “Chapters too, fragment in time

  1. Lisa hit on the essence of my experience with this wonderful piece Darius. I feel I am moving through time and space, picking up portions peripherally, small, large, distorted, distended, understandable, mysterious, surprising, familiar, baffling — but there is a continuum thread running through that carries me from the first void to the second, without feeling lost. What a splendid rush My friend. Your effort here is overwhelming and so very stimulating. I am exhausted but satiated!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. oh my GOD. WOW!

    (fragment prompt)
    Shay: “I got nothin”
    Darius: “Let me show you how it’s DONE!”

    I am just…it…this…*continues to sputter, amazed* “priority magnets” and “sudden was the creeping tiger” were extra memorable, but to quote back is to diminish this fantastic piece you’ve created here. And the black blanks at start and finish is a pure genius move. Gawd, excuse the jabber and gush, but this blew. me. away.

    Psst, Darius….I am hosting at The Sunday Muse today, and then a word list Monday, if you possibly have anything left after this tour de force. It’s just fecking brilliant, my friend.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. The way you play with time, the rhythm, the key words that keep you on track, the inclusion of both labouring and shortening of breath in the final stanza….gives me a sense of full circle…urgent, raw fragments…enjoyed that..

    Liked by 1 person

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