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There is a moment
Immediately following the explosion
(the light surges forward)
But before the all-encompassing fury of sound
Can reach the ears, like glowing lava
To sear the inner drum
(the children's eyes widen in recognition)
In that pause this atmoshperic resonance of life
(something like the growth of bones, or leaves expanding)
Can for a brief moment be heard
(perhaps it is not so organic, but more like
the groaning of wordless prayer or
silent meditation)

So there are moments in my days
When gliding about in an empty space
And nothing going on
I feel like a ghost haunting an evaporated memory
(this is inbetween the bombardments of your presence)
I knock about in my silly white sheet
With holes for eyes
Vaccuous on the inside, empty on the outside
(though there is this background pitch
as of electricity arcing within me)

The air pressure is intolerable, the tension
Like hot fingers pressing against cool glass.
*******************************************
Poet's Notation -- written during the winter of 1999, I was not only experiencing that universal sense of possible impending doom from Y2K (remember that anxiety? how far away it seems, now) but was also going through a very difficult transition in finalizing a divorce, moving, and working 70 hours a week.

I do have a certain morbid fascination regarding explosions as I visited the Atomic Holocaust Museum in Hiroshima when I was five years old. My most vived memory of that experience is the image of a stone wall on which the shadows of three schoolchildren had been etched. Those schoolchildren had been standing within the most inner epicenter of the blast, and the outline of their shadows -- implanted by the intense force of the atomic shock wave -- were all that subsequently remained of them.

It would be fair to say that I, too, felt like little more than an outline of my former self.

------
"All the darkness in the world
cannot put out the light
of one candle"


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Comments

The following comments are for "The Distended Tension of White Noise"
by hazelfaern

fine work
I enjoyed this piece completely.

( Posted by: shelldragger [Member] On: February 9, 2004 )

curious
Thanks for the comment, SD.

I'm curious about the low-viewership on this particular piece (14, where A Reqiuem for Rossetta Stones has gotten 45 and climbing). Was the title a turn-off to anyone? If so, why?

( Posted by: hazelfaern [Member] On: February 9, 2004 )

re: curious
haze, it could be that this piece got "pushed" down too fast. I'm working hard on the redesign that I hope will help keep things in front of people longer. Good piece, btw!

( Posted by: Chrispian [Admin] On: February 9, 2004 )

Re: curious
hazelfern, what an interweaving of "shock" - very nicely woven together. This piece is a thinker, as all great pieces are. I think the low viewing is due to the flurry of activity on this site lately. Also, there's a little brewhaha going on about the ratings. At any rate, nicely done.

( Posted by: poesandpoetry [Member] On: February 9, 2004 )

ahhhh
something like the growth of bones, or leaves expanding...

yes. i think this line will follow me through the rest of my night. i can tell that you pay close attention to the world around you. the whole piece is startlingly beautiful. great, effective use of parentheses. your last image of hot fingers against cool glass reminded me of a bit in my piece "corner".
i'll certainly watch for more.

( Posted by: ark [Member] On: February 10, 2004 )

Poet's notes
Hazel~

You are certainly becoming one of my favorite poets to watch for on the site. Once again you've delivered an excellent poem with unique and striking imagery and real emotion.

My only real problem is once again with the Author's notes. I wonder if I should feel like I need the poem explained to me, or if I am being forced to overlay the experiences that caused the piece over the words themselves. It's not really a gripe just a concern.

Once again excellent poem.

Bart

( Posted by: Bartleby [Member] On: February 12, 2004 )

Where is the rhyme?
This are just disjointed sentences I fail to see the rhythm of a poem in this and the use of explainations that is galling ummm is this a poetry in its true state?

There are no rhyming words too just prose
...

SHRUGS but with all the favorable comments i read must be some hidden ink or something somewhere

( Posted by: RightingIt [Member] On: February 22, 2004 )

the beat
good work, though I kinda agree with bartleby. While, poetry doesn't have to rhyme and at times it shouldn't, there is no beat. but it is excellent work, none the less.

( Posted by: modern_day_holocaust [Member] On: February 25, 2004 )





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