Survivors

Survivors

Thursday, September 14, 2017

The Gathering


©  2017  Steve King
All rights reserved


He leaned so naturally,
bent to shadow by the moon.
He asked if I had a match.
‘I don’t smoke, myself,’ he said,
‘but I must look to my watch,
for the times are old.’

So soon, it gathers like a dream,
the waiting while his moon burns hot,
and all my world grows cold.


A poem for Joy Jones’ Friday 55

6 comments:

  1. Steve this is very illusive work, which of course, is the kind I like--it hints and promises and leads the imagination beyond the words. I particularly like 'bent to shadow by the moon..' and the sense of time itself being shadowy but certain in an unknowable sort of way...and a light that needs to burn. Thanks so much for contributing to a very kickass weekend-to-be. (The prompt will post at 1:00 am.)

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  2. There is something about the tone of this piece, about the dialogue.. that makes me look into the shadow that is him... searching for the source of the cold...

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    1. Thanks for stopping by, Magaly. My opinion is that someone is meeting Death on a street corner, but there are other valid interpretations, I'm sure. Sometimes I try to be sly and clever, but end up being obscure. This might be one of those times.

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  3. Like Joy, I like the "bent to shadow by the moon" part best. You have set a mood here that promises a whole past and, at least for one of them, future colored by that past.

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  4. You've set the mood well, Steve. Mysterious, foreboding and otherworldly.

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  5. I think looking at the watch signals time is growing more precious as if a limit has been placed. There is still a feeling of warmth though breath itself is cold.

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