deepundergroundpoetry.com
KITES
After the kite carnival
Totems of flight left their parade,
In a fulminant flurry
As if a storm fury
Had broken them.
Air that, all winter, had seemed empty
Filled by spring syringe, breeding colour;
The sky rearranged her furniture
Fastidious and fussy, twilight
Took centre stage on her mantelpiece.
The Boy who had heaved string all day
Sang for his supper by kissing
Gran’s alabaster forehead:
Nectarous, wrinkled, carved
Inflections of toil, trouble & love.
‘Where will Gran go?”
“Beyond the gates of Deepstone Road
Where we will scatter rose petals
Washed down by the rain.”
He decided he liked the word ‘scatter’
A mantra to
Slash midnight scarecrows.
He strung the kite to lampshade,
Restless in amber’ing streetlight
To take flight over human habitat,
Through seas of flotsam
breath mist
Exhaled as brandy tumbling o’er lips.
He counted kites in azure skies,
Eloquence of sleep found its tongue
Dreamscape drifting under pillow
He dreamt of an ambulance
Quiet, at foot of his bed/
Hailstones falling from shredded moon.
Woken by a gentling rain
Beginning to gather in gutter,
Becoming first footprints of the sun.
Wherever puddles form
They form on buried pasts.
He stands at the window.
The sky doesn’t promise wind
He streams kite ribbons
Onto the bedroom floor.
Gran steals caviar from
Her breakfast tray,
The waiter serves tea
In a gold tea cup.
She smiles, thankful
For the weather.
The Boy kisses Gran’s forehead.
“Tomorrow,” he laughs,
“We will scatter our
Kites into the sun.”
Totems of flight left their parade,
In a fulminant flurry
As if a storm fury
Had broken them.
Air that, all winter, had seemed empty
Filled by spring syringe, breeding colour;
The sky rearranged her furniture
Fastidious and fussy, twilight
Took centre stage on her mantelpiece.
The Boy who had heaved string all day
Sang for his supper by kissing
Gran’s alabaster forehead:
Nectarous, wrinkled, carved
Inflections of toil, trouble & love.
‘Where will Gran go?”
“Beyond the gates of Deepstone Road
Where we will scatter rose petals
Washed down by the rain.”
He decided he liked the word ‘scatter’
A mantra to
Slash midnight scarecrows.
He strung the kite to lampshade,
Restless in amber’ing streetlight
To take flight over human habitat,
Through seas of flotsam
breath mist
Exhaled as brandy tumbling o’er lips.
He counted kites in azure skies,
Eloquence of sleep found its tongue
Dreamscape drifting under pillow
He dreamt of an ambulance
Quiet, at foot of his bed/
Hailstones falling from shredded moon.
Woken by a gentling rain
Beginning to gather in gutter,
Becoming first footprints of the sun.
Wherever puddles form
They form on buried pasts.
He stands at the window.
The sky doesn’t promise wind
He streams kite ribbons
Onto the bedroom floor.
Gran steals caviar from
Her breakfast tray,
The waiter serves tea
In a gold tea cup.
She smiles, thankful
For the weather.
The Boy kisses Gran’s forehead.
“Tomorrow,” he laughs,
“We will scatter our
Kites into the sun.”
Published 3rd May 2020
Author's Note
#ERULGCT 29. Umanoid xx Bit different. I love kites. Guess they cliched as metaphor, but hey ho. I care little. STAY SAFE ALL
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likes 5
reading list entries 3
comments 7
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The author encourages honest critique.
4th May 2020 00:10am
Cliche holds for a reason. I really liked this. . It held so well. And goes way beyond any simple one, of one thought. This thinks in abundance...
He decided he liked the word ‘scatter’
A mantra to
Slash midnight scarecrows.
I love that so much... our wanderlust prevents or keeps us.
He decided he liked the word ‘scatter’
A mantra to
Slash midnight scarecrows.
I love that so much... our wanderlust prevents or keeps us.
6th May 2020 7:46pm
4th May 2020 10:13am
intensely pacing scenes & sequences.. of an intertewinibg scapes of the kiting nature expanse & thoughts.. & emotions.. all running subtly with the simple hope of a an anticipated tomorrow, the today's labouring moment in all zoomed in detaisl & larger realities.. & there's this subterranean past however taht was .. that's the base on which the today & tomorrows are taking shape.. the word "scatter" is a very emphasising refrain... amazing thing is it's both done literally at a conscious bleakness & also entering in subconsciously & essentially in the conveyed meanings... the metaphors seems to flex at your whims & ease like a gymnastic circling in & out & but landing perfect 10/10 impossibly & unbelievably happening Nadia Comaneci moments .. striking the poetics so in your unique narrative & grandeur.. its a visual & cinematic experience.. imn some surreal zooming in & out of the realities.. The Kite flown across through out is a good literary tool you employ as an on=bjectof metaphor & more.. this here exudes a timeless kinetic crossing barriers.. juz me.. tjis is one of your thickly poetic piece so done uncompromising .. like many & all of yours .. ERULGCT is fluttering high .. so ev in our skies & flesh .. Love Me xx:)
6th May 2020 7:49pm
Ha. Never been compared to a Romanian gymnast before ;) My solitary attempt at a trampoline somersault nearly resulted in a broken neck! You are the word acrobat anyhows. Love me xx
'He dreamt of an ambulance'
it all turns for me at this crux. in this view.
probably favorite of mine of your recent writes.
edit: reread it. going to nominate it. too good.
it all turns for me at this crux. in this view.
probably favorite of mine of your recent writes.
edit: reread it. going to nominate it. too good.
5th May 2020 7:08pm
It's beautifully, soulfully rendered Rob. Quite vivid before the mind's eye, flowing with sensitive measure, details perfectly proportioned. I agree with Nomoth, definitely worth the nod. It's always a pleasure.
6th May 2020 7:52pm
No Moth / Daniel. Genuinely appreciate your thoughtful & kind comments. Flattered by the POM thingie. Funny enough, didn't think this carried much poetic purchase. Seem to be flowing more naturally (fiction and non-fiction too) in these manic Covid times. Rob
