sleep of the just
by AuldMiseryGuts (Member) - published: January 20, 2008
Word Count: 80 Word Bytes: 669 Viewed: 167 times
Category - Poetry
© Copyright by AuldMiseryGuts

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He wasn’t dreaming of
A white Christmas

He wasn’t dreaming of
Anything at all

If he ever remembered
How happiness used
To put hairs on his chest

Then he
Wasn’t telling.

Fire had fought fire
Suffused in the long bones
Of his memory
Many moons ago

But Tuesday he wasn’t
Dreaming
And flame had no house.

He hanged himself
From his bunk by
His shirt sleeves

As the snow encircled
The treeless vistas
Awaiting

Hydebank Wood and
Belvoir Park

------
The human race, the only race I know where everybody loses.

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Comments

The following comments are for "sleep of the just"
by AuldMiseryGuts

sleep in the keep
You portray bleakness and desolation (spiritual and physical) masterfully, as here, with such as "As the snow encircled / The treeless vistas".

I read the metaphor of the "long bones" as an anatomical term refering to the primary weight-bearing and muscle-anchoring bones of the body; which is, I'm pretty sure, what you meant for it. Works great for me.

I knew a man who had spent some months in the county jail. He said that hearing Christmas songs being played over the common speakers in December, while he was in jail, was truly an F-you moment, and that such songs heard today take him back to there.

Your poem is bleaker than that, and beautiful.

~ John

( Posted by: Flonigus [Member] On: January 21, 2008 )

sleep of the just
Me too, on the memory thing. Memories of running to/from fires are stored in the long bones of legs hurrying and arms moving as if on all fours...

Reminded me, this, of a max security inmate at the infirmary once. His light bulb was caged, like all lightbulbs in the old cells, but he managed to extricate it and proceeded to eat it in a suicide attempt. He swallowed some glass, but that won't kill you...

I used to hate cutting down the hangers...

I like how you work this up to the hanging itself, Shannon. Good narrative.

Thanks.
Lucie

( Posted by: windchime [Member] On: January 21, 2008 )

Sleep of the Just
A superbly written poem, with power, passion and pain. I see the connection with sleep, bed and sheets, comforting us. Indeed the ending is tragic. Who shall we run to, with deep emotional pain, dwelling inside of us. I like the way you create this emotional roller coaster ride, crashing into a suicide story. Poem possesses clear subject,imagery and tone. Once more, a job well. Keep sharing

( Posted by: FireFly747 [Member] On: January 22, 2008 )

long bones
John, you got them long bones exactly, and for that I thank you. always have hated Christmas songs, in or out of jail. White Christmas, for reasons of my own, still sets my teeth on edge to this day... thank you for finding beauty in this bleakness. best to you...

Lucie, thank you, my friend, for sharing this, and your experiences with me... I have this other poem that starts with: Muffled sounds of suicide/ in the adjacent cell... but I think some things are better left in past and off paper… at least for time being…

FireFly, thank you kindly for your thorough reading and critique.

thanks all for taking time to read and comment. much appreciated.

( Posted by: AuldMiseryGuts [Member] On: January 23, 2008 )

A+ o' Dubhuir
Fuckin' A! (that is my response to your poem in mind, body and spirit) Shit ya!!!

( Posted by: TheRealKarmaTseringLhamo [Member] On: January 24, 2008 )

Lena
thank you once again, for stopping by and showing some love. always appreciated... with bells on ;)

( Posted by: AuldMiseryGuts [Member] On: February 3, 2008 )

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