Homework 14/10 - A Space in Time (language warning)

[warooa]

Probably doesn’t need the harsh wording . . . but I reckon it gives it the required kick.

A Space in Time
© M. Pattie 2013

The space was cold but comforting, like hometown morning frost,
but time and space could not replace the ledger that was lost.
The early morning walkers gave their cursory attention;
the drunken sleeping black man keep on plastering his pension.
His face is etched and busted; a living artefact
of brandy slurs and racial blurs, and women that he wacked.
His message stick: an open, warm and untouched can of beer,
his addled mind, fucked-up and blindly flailing out in fear.

His outburst echoes wildly underneath the Raglan Bridge
and swirls up through the trees into the streets of Skipton Ridge.
An epileptic monologue delivered full of pain;
he sits up blinks and spins and thinks, then lays down still again.
He lays so still and sacrosanct, while salty saurians stir,
their footprints weaved where once conceived a tribe of men who were
the River’s long custodians, who fought and hunted here,
and now the Dreaming turns to screaming dreams that disappear.

His calloused, lived-in features, and his swollen sallow eyes,
they bleakly hide the thoughts inside of bones to fossilise.
His recall such a tunnel back from when he was a lad;
his haircuts come from his dear Mum, and uppercuts from Dad.
But poisoned by his mother well before his lungs drew breath
in foetal bars; a million stars could all predict his death.
And as the western monsoon storms drop in like long-lost friends,
The ancient river won’t deliver totems of amends.

[william williams]

quite good Marty but in the last line in the first stanza try stuffed up

bill the old battler

[Maureen K Clifford]

WOW - Marty this is great work IMO. Punchy, no spare sentiments, hard hitting and with the ring of truth (sadly) I wouldn't change a thing with it. Great writing.

[warooa]

Thanks Maureen, thanks Bill.

Marty

[Bob Pacey]

An all to familiar scenario Marty and related nicely.

This line just seems to throw me


" the drunken sleeping black man keep on plastering his pension."

I know what you are saying but it seems not to read well to me ! but then I'm no expert as you know.


I'm not a big fan of the F word but then that's just the prude in me

Well done mate.


Bob

[Heather]

I was there Marty, watching the whole scene unfold - great poem and a great use of language. The "harsh" word is probably the only one that has the right oomph.

These are my favourite lines:


The early morning walkers gave their cursory attention;

His outburst echoes wildly underneath the Raglan Bridge
and swirls up through the trees into the streets of Skipton Ridge.
An epileptic monologue delivered full of pain;
he sits up blinks and spins and thinks, then lays down still again.

His calloused, lived-in features, and his swollen sallow eyes,

But poisoned by his mother well before his lungs drew breath


Heather

[warooa]

Thanks Bob . . unfortunately you're right about the familiarity of the scenerio - and I know there's some lumpy bumpy sorta bits but maybe something to unkink at a later stage.

Thanks Matt, always value your feedback mate.

And yes, Heather - I think I had David Campbell's query in mind about tackling different issues through poetry, and Maureen's prompts did the rest. Thanks.

Marty