Sunday

[JiminyC]

Sunday

There was no motion
That wasn't monitored.
I stated this the other day,
Sunday.
Back when I was little there were no
Services on a Sunday
Now I don't think days warrant names
Nor actions warrant mentioning
As they are all mute
To this plastic cup existence
Filled with the sweat of work
Then poured out over the ashes
That splay around the base of the rose
That tries in vain to flower again
When nobody is looking
Like the criminal who has his first release
And thinks of the straight and narrow

[mat james]

Very effective imagery Jiminy.
There is also a flood of futility permeating this poem. Disenchanted hope.
I like the undercurrent of re-incarnation too.

the rose
That tries in vain to flower again
When nobody is looking

But he "tries" Jiminy. That is all we can do.

You took me to Poe's "The Raven".

"take thy beak from out my heart
quit the bust above my door
quoth the Raven,
nevermore......"

Matj

[lizzytysh]

I was very taken by this one, too, Jiminy... "this plastic cup existence" is such a simple and graphic summation, and the idea of days not warranting names anymore ~ very effective.

Having worked in both male and female prisons and seeing/hearing the recidivism ~ letters attached to their numbers as alpha indication of returns, alongside their own comments and protestations ~ this is unique and impacting for me:

Like the criminal who has his first release
And thinks of the straight and narrow

I also like the way one thing morphs into the next:

To this plastic cup existence
Filled with the sweat of work
Then poured out over the ashes
That splay around the base of the rose
That tries in vain to flower again
When nobody is looking

... even the last line suggesting that if anyone saw it, it would immediately stop trying.

Quite a commentary on today's world .


~ Lizzy

[Boss]

Plastic cup existence, indeed!

To many, your groove is outta' line. Fuck 'em, it's not to me.

Peace mate,
Adam