
The house looks like a painting
yet, we can’t agree on anything
What I want is meaningless to you
what you want remains awkwardly obtuse
and unreadable
I play my game, aligning the pieces
to get me whatever I desire
O, the house looks like a painting
but I never know what’s right
too adept at getting what I think I need
Meeting an old girlfriend
who talks of monasteries and monks
as I count the freckles on her nose
and wonder if she still swallows…
O, the house looks like a painting
yet, we cannot agree on anything
Is there an urge that we can harness
and repair
or just our feeble pushes
toward opposing goals
Two firm lurches toward different shores
It’s corrosive
it’s wholly limiting
it’s the only way we seem to know
to operate
The house looks like painting
and still we’re not aligned
on anything at all…
[2017]
Thanks for reading.
I always thought this house looked more like a painting than an actual building. This poem is based on an argument I overheard on a train once. I often wonder if they ever got aligned…
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“Meeting an old girlfriend
who talks of monasteries and monks
as I count the freckles on her nose
and wonder if…”
Amazing write!!! Yes, I like this kind of brutal lit.
Thanks for the visit, and very, very grateful to find your blog back. :))
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Ah thank you Lia. I tend to shy away from posting the more challenging poems because I don’t know how they’ll be taken. And I had even considered removing the section you’re quoting. People always assume everything is autobiographical… 😀 I should and will be braver though! Thanks for the encouragement and great to have you following along. 🙏🏼
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That was the part that made it interesting though, to me it’s what distinguishes nice-to-look-at wall-art from something with more mettle. :)) I hear you though. I struggle sometimes with the same. But usually I act first and think (and worry) afterwards… 😬😉🤓🤷🏼♀️😊
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I think you’ve got the right technique there… 💪🏼 It’s the writing with bite that keeps me gripped in its jaws! Thanks Lia.
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Haha very glad to read that Tom. And very much likewise. :)) 🙌🙏❤︎🌻
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Very easy to get caught in the trap of assuming a poem is autobiographical……
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I think it’s natural when a poem is written in the first person and helps give you a way in to the poem to imagine the writer is the protagonist. I feel like every poem should come with a disclaimer 🙂
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“as I count the freckles on her nose”: Sometimes the little touches really stand out in a painting. Great work!
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Thanks Benjamin 🙂 Glad you enjoyed.
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Welcome 🙂
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Beautifully penned! Enjoyed reading it!
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Thanks Leif, really pleased you enjoyed this one. Thanks for commenting and for the follow too – very kind of you 🙂
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I somehow missed this first time around so I’m pleased to catch it now. Love it!
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Thank you Peter 🙂 There has to be one you’d missed eventually. I feel vindicated for reposting the older ones now… Which is a bit of a necessity while I am struggling to write anything new. Really pleased you enjoyed. I wonder if that house is still standing…
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It probably has “luxury” flats on there now!
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This is a great poem, the use of the metaphor and the thoughts when interacting with his ex girlfriend.
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Thanks Cassa 🙂 Oh this is encouraging me to think about trying something else in this vane…
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Look forward to reading it.
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