deepundergroundpoetry.com
Those Pictures
An aging beauty queen’s frigid smile
Coy, stupid smirk
The superficial, terrorized look
Of an animal just before
The car careens into its impotent, lazy head.
That’s the face in those pictures.
We will all be there someday
Make no mistake
With our heads bowed
We’ll grasp, without acknowledgement,
Our reaper’s hand.
No sense in flirting
With the reaper,
He will cleave you in half
Before sending you to hell
Or wherever you’re going.
The cat sits outside my bedroom door
Pawing to be let in
Not caring, like cats do,
Of the crisis tensing the molecules
Thickening the air in this room.
I fucking hate
Surrender.
But beauty withers
Always replaced…by something bigger
And better and more alive
Before it dies
Again..and again.
Coy, stupid smirk
The superficial, terrorized look
Of an animal just before
The car careens into its impotent, lazy head.
That’s the face in those pictures.
We will all be there someday
Make no mistake
With our heads bowed
We’ll grasp, without acknowledgement,
Our reaper’s hand.
No sense in flirting
With the reaper,
He will cleave you in half
Before sending you to hell
Or wherever you’re going.
The cat sits outside my bedroom door
Pawing to be let in
Not caring, like cats do,
Of the crisis tensing the molecules
Thickening the air in this room.
I fucking hate
Surrender.
But beauty withers
Always replaced…by something bigger
And better and more alive
Before it dies
Again..and again.
Published 29th May 2015
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likes 13
reading list entries 4
comments 9
reads 988
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
29th May 2015 10:35pm
30th May 2015 1:38am
30th May 2015 2:35am
This is tough-minded, strong work Virginia. You show some contempt for that aging beauty queen and her delusions of permanence, ignoring the progression of wrinkles and sagging flesh. She might try to ignore death, the reaper showing up in the second stanza, not giving a rat's ass if he's recognized or not. The cat in the last stanza isn't given to much reflection, doesn't care for the angst but might provide some comfort. His mistress can feel her looks fade but still maintains some hope for "something bigger / And better and more alive." But even this is transitory. Is there any point in bothering? A tough call...
30th May 2015 4:15am
that which is bigger & better must still be called beauty, matured to it's most glorious bouquet. we carry it w/us as we meander toward Sunset boulevard.
exquisite poetry...
exquisite poetry...
30th May 2015 8:00pm
Good God Petal absolutely breathtaking you have such a way of pulling it out of us !
This poem here is incredible I can see everything you're talking about in detail so sad and so truthful,
you're amazing!
Love
Zazzles xoxo
In the list!
This poem here is incredible I can see everything you're talking about in detail so sad and so truthful,
you're amazing!
Love
Zazzles xoxo
In the list!
31st May 2015 4:36am
You end with the idea that life continues. Like to be reborn, you have to die, "again and again". The tone is sad, but aware. I am not certain if there is resignation to Time or nature triumphs by adapting to change. I am not asking, just contemplating from your writing. Nice work as usual VP.
31st May 2015 1:23pm
This is a deep, existential write dear Virginia. Watching the old slip into decay, and waiting for it to be dragged away by the reaper, to let things die to have the bigger and better, knowing they will die as well, to be replaced by the better, the bigger. The hard part is letting yourself get to a point where you can allow things to die when they have decayed, and letting the better have a chance to grow. Humans tend to hold on to attachments very tightly. I actually just wrote a poem about that. haha
This is a sad poem, and a painfully honest one, and beautiful. Always so, so beautiful, letting things die, letting better things grow. Accepting the beauty of age...the hope of a new day.
Well written as always, sweet Virginia.
This is a sad poem, and a painfully honest one, and beautiful. Always so, so beautiful, letting things die, letting better things grow. Accepting the beauty of age...the hope of a new day.
Well written as always, sweet Virginia.
2nd Jun 2015 1:57pm
