Thursday, October 13, 2005

Does Anyone Have The Time?

(Ken gets a nod for this one.)

It is not the day,
or even the week
or random month
that has gone missing,

but rather the large,
solid chunks of a life
we now miss, touching
hands to empty pockets
as men do when they
forget their house
keys at the office,

and we look up to
suns that have burned
their many orbits,
these chariots on
flame at the brow
of the world,

knowing we are less,
that bulk of that
phantom stuff called
living has been pushed
out of us,

our souls barren like
flattened toothpaste
tubes at the edge of
a grimy sink in an
abandoned apartment,
old police boundary
tape still hanging
slack on the doorframe.


Stranger Ken said...

What amazes me about your poem, Firehawk, is the way you've taken my humble little man in his friend's garden who's undergoing an anxiety attack and transformed him into a vast philosophical projection. This is something you do really well, too.

There's some great imagery here, like the references to empty pockets and forgotten house keys, which rings with the note of truth, the flaming chariots at the brow of the world, which reminds me of that apocalyptic speech that Roy has in "Blade Runner" (attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion)and the whole of the last stanza, where the imagery just grows and grows into an entire narrative of its own.

I'm honoured that my little sonnet should have triggered this great response. Moments like this make the days of writing worthwhile!

Firehawk said...


The Bladerunner quote: it was interesting that I recently read that quote, though that may or may not have brought it to mind. I was thinking of the conception of the Egyptian mythology where Ra rides a burning chariot around the earth at that particular moment.

As far as philosphical statements, I feel like that one man, suddenly feeling the crushing weight of years gone by, is no less a universal statement. I'm glad you enjoyed my response, of course, but I don't think mine really amplifies your point very much.

Reading a piece that makes me immediatly create something...that's what makes the act of reading so important. I never know when I'll come across a convergence in the verbal lay lines and get this little power surge.

Anyway, this one wouldn't have ever come out if I hadn't had your "little sonnet" to inspire it.

Stranger Ken said...

It's kind of you to credit me, Firehawk, but the really interesting point is the one you make, about "convergent ley lines". Just where do ideas come from and how is it that something we read triggers the process?

Bill said...

While I enjoyed this piece, I also think the reverse is also true... that while time has gone, left us, if you will, when you stop to 'really' look around, there's a lot of stuff left with us as well.

I wish I had more time as I'm fairly stoked with a "rebuttal" piece...

I love it when something I read, inspires me.

Firehawk said...


I welcome a rebuttal, since this was was a response to Ken in the first place. If you can figure out how to make something uplifting out of the topic, all the better.

Thanks for coming over!

Across Inconstant Breath

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