The trees drip
Like blood
On a Sunday afternoon
Peaceful
Like butter
Melting
Into sleep
So thick
Larger than my head
Sometimes it makes me laugh
The gasp
The jerk
The sickness
Then I
Feel
Something
Malevolent
Repulsive
A thought
Sunday afternoon should be a better place
The sheds have numbers on
Like a code
Little houses
People don't sleep in
Numbers
Counting down time
You have to find things to see
I tell Alice
She knows
We go out in the puddles
Investigating
Uncovering what no one wants to see
Her sticky little fingers
Probe around the lid of reality
Who’s Glass
A metal scroll
How do we make sense of that
Turn it into letters
Easy, spill it like blood claps Alice
And so we do
The leaves walk like feet
Bouncing off of banjo strings
We take the hit
Go down
Like blood on a Sunday afternoon.
So many images...walking with you ...and Alice ~ so many thoughts and associations woken up...by walking the leaves blueprints... magical
ReplyDeleteThank you very much humbird..we are glad you came along
DeleteSometimes interesting things can be found in the 'puddles' of one's life, even though they may be things that no one really wants to see. There is always something to be learned from investigation! Have a good week, Jae.
ReplyDeleteYes..always worth a look in the puddles..sometimes there is treasure..and if not..there are words..have a good week too thank you Mary
Delete"People don't sleep in numbers..." so true.
ReplyDeleteWhen I'm depressed, I find Sunday afternoons to be the absolute worst. Too much time to make go away.
You try and tell yourself it's just another day but somehow it feels heavier..it must be bogged down by so many unspoken associations..let's hope for a good one this week..thank you Ann
DeleteExploring puddles is a good idea. You never know what can be found in or around the edges, but stepping one foot in front of the other is a good beginning to get moving.
ReplyDeleteIt's probably the only way! we will try not to get too distracted by the puddles..thank you Robyn
Deletethis so so sad. I hope you find happiness in those raindrops each one, rain to play and jump in puddles like a small child find joy.
ReplyDeleteThank you Sheilagh.. We enjoy the letters just like raindrops
DeleteGREAT take! through the looking glass. This is magical writing with many very original ideas. Masterful! I adore
ReplyDelete"The leaves walk like feet
Bouncing off of banjo strings"
Brilliant, kiddo!
Thank you very much Sherry..I wasn't sure about that line..all morning I had that duelling banjo music in my head..it was driving me crazy so tried to shake it out!
DeleteVery engaging and wistful poem, Jae, right from the opening lines. Sundays are not always what we'd like them to be.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much Gabriella..sometimes the better days come when you don't expect them too
Deletepuddles and mirrors both with clouded images. This is really thought provoking and a little alarming, but very nicely done.
ReplyDeleteThank you Alan..glad only a little alarming..
DeleteMost Sundays aren't what I'd like them to be. I think as soon as this winter loses its grip, I'll investigate puddles. Playing in mud makes everything better. Thanks for bringing back those childhood memories, Jae.
ReplyDeleteThank you Belva..enjoy the puddles and mud..sounds like a recipe for mud pies to us
DeleteI guess I don't know Carol well enough to recognize the references (and I even own a large print illustrated copy) but I really liked your writing on its face and enjoyed reading it.
ReplyDeleteThank you Stormcat..I am only borrowing Alice's company..I shall return her safely..she only came to me a few years ago also..but I am glad she did
DeleteSunday afternoon should definitely be a better place, and have nothing to do with numbers.
ReplyDeleteSunday should definitely be a better place, and shouldn't have anything to do with numbers.
ReplyDeleteThat sounds good..thank you Alice..a day to suspend numbers..
Delete"You have to find things to see"... is my favorite line in this one, Jae. There is beauty and wonder all around, if one trains the eyes to see. Clear vision is not often natural. We have to develop it, work at it, practice and appreciate.
ReplyDeleteThank you Kim..it's absolutely something you have to work at..otherwise all you ever see is your own tired boots..thank you x
DeleteThere are movies and songs written about Gloomy Sundays. It's the afternoons that seems the worse. Winter does not help the mood state either Have to be very Chekovian about these things. ENDURE. I am having it tattooed on my forehead:)
ReplyDeleteI hope it's in erasable ink..I'm now hearing Sinead singing Gloomy Sunday in my head...must insert chirpy thought..thank you Rallentanda :)
DeleteAlice is a naughty girl. I thought you were looking after her but she is such an imp she will lead you astray. Charles Dodgson has a lot to answer for.
ReplyDeleteShe only does what was written..can't blame Alice..not really..thank you OldEgg..we will stick to the sensible path don't want to scuff our shoes..
Delete...beautiful progression of thoughts all throughout... i enjoyed it... smiles...
ReplyDeleteThank you kindly Kelvin :)
DeleteJae,
ReplyDeleteSeeing images in puddles, between beginnings and ends...A busy Sunday...
Eileen
Jae,
ReplyDeleteTried to leave a comment earlier....
Enjoyed your poem with its images in puddles...A different Sunday experience
Eileen
Thank you very much for coming back Eileen
Deletemuddied and bloodied - I think Alice visits both sides of the looking glass
ReplyDeleteShe does indeed..thank you Leslie
DeleteI like how this drips, "Little houses / People don't sleep in" was particularly haunting
ReplyDeleteThanks Gila..it is a bit like a leaking tap!
DeleteVivid! about the little things around us/
ReplyDeleteThank you very much Akila
DeleteOooh those bloody sundays, great imagery.
ReplyDeleteBloody indeed..thank you Kathryn..we will have that song in our heads now..good connection though! Thanks
DeleteJae Rose, Great opening to this poem. Love the images you laid out here. Sorry for the late visit, things aren't going well at my end here.
ReplyDeletePamela
Thank you for visiting Pamela..when never matters..always good to see you..hope things are a little better
DeleteWow! What a wonderful piece! All dripping with blood, beautiful red, well done. I love it!
ReplyDeleteMaybe the reason we think Sundays are disappointing, is that we greet each Sunday with high expectations...so it seems the only answer is to make a grand plan, and execute, maybe create a grand tea for you and Alice, maybe even invite someone else? or convince yourself Sunday is just another day...which is what I do. Always try to get some work done on Sunday, just like any other day. Then is becomes a very special day, just for me.
ReplyDeleteThank you Annell..i think it's that we never have any plans..no matter the day..and Sunday is like a marker of another week gone..wasted in a way..maybe you can come to tea one day..that would be a very special Sunday x
DeleteFor sure Jae!
DeletePlease provide the Poets United link, Jae Rose. You are right that this powerful poem fits in today's prompt with the howl that this being is to gone to make. Loss and lost, what could satisfy that hunger?
ReplyDeleteHi Susan - thank you..maybe I got the link wrong..my post for Poets United was Wheel..how can I provide a link to the site?
Delete