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freefall
November 2009 
a tall horse
Posted on Sep 23rd, 2009
by 
sherab
sherab
bear with us for a moment
it all went so well at first...
Across the wide grass running A thousand meters high
The red cloud at sunset
Burned in back of my mind
Everything halting
Like statues on a train
The mumbling of passengers
Who never said hello.
The place reeks of poetry
And bad investments
Sawdust in the corner
Like robbery
And holding nothing dear
They come rumbling to a stop
Apocalyptic pencil shavings
and crumpled newsprint
The empty seats stare back at you
All those mornings yesterday
Came back in a rush
More horses in the rain
Running from thunder.
Concrete follows
Like a lean dog
In the undergrowth
Grinning with panic
The pain stumbles after
Hobbles the mind
Fetters the blood
A small dream
Of rabbits in the garden
Tattooed cats
And words
that crystallize in the sun.
I’m letting this get away from me
Because you were with me then
And we both had something in our eyes.
It almost gets you going
when you think it cant get worse
then the running happens
everything crashing after
just because the words didn’t fit their meaning.
There’s no need for you in the room tonight
this blue baby
catch your breath.
Leave us alone we bury our own.
Now the rain can come.
I really was crazy.
Everyone said I was.
Now it’s true.
You know whatever happens, they’ll come back to this moment.
I waited all these years, thinking it would be all right.
They are gone.
It never was all right.
Abandoned.
And why should I care.
You never see light like that in the city.
Always staring at the sky --till the needle breaks and splits like fire in the night.
Access: Public
that's freefalling, alright! well done…
Yeah, I guess that's all it is: well done, like a microwave hamburger.
108 views.
one comment.
No, I don't feel alone.
But what
Are you Looking for?
sorry, did my comment come across as condescending? I really liked this poem. It is so raw, so pure.
Oh, That was such a very bratty thing for me to say.
No, I thought you liked the poem.
some days i should not be allowed near the keyboard.
But now I'm really confused, are you saying it's raw…or well done?
I guessing that its overcooked around the edges and still frozen in the middle.
and hoping that is in some way funny.
i do appreciate your particular humour so! :):)
glad i didn't offend you. i worry about that… be well, my friend.
Actually your first comment did seem A little condescending. I do know that was not your intent.
There is a slight problem with trying to compliment “Free Writing,”
Because it is raw as you say. that is, unfinished. it is and attempt to not edit and spit out the bad with the good.
I'm actually not surprised that Jackson Pollock was always depressed. some how he had to be wondering why this one splatter was better than the other one.
You know? at some point, he is in control, and he decides “i'll throw some RED over this way,” but then some time after it leaves his hand, he gives up control. maybe its god that shapes the way the pint falls, maybe its just the viscosity of paint.
How do you give up control and still remain “the artist?”
right, criticism well taken. thank you.
giving up control and still remain the artist? well, I don't know. are any of us the artist or is the Universe just moving through each person?