The Loud New Neighbors
On Hearing through the Bedroom Wall
The midnight river of our ebb and flow,
meanders to the bedroom as we creep
to Hypnos' estuary where we sleep,
not seen by man 'til cock does crow.
Our dreamy ships with fare undreamed of,
we watch with eager eye of sleeping soul;
until the brazen bell of voice does toll,
of neighb'ring emnity or neighb'ring love!
We hear the threshing on Love's harvest floor!
or hear the yelling of demonic fight!
We wake from somnolence interrupted,
and wipe the sleep from dreams disrupted,
to hear symbolic coital acts at night
that drape the bed: lascivious decor!
River of Dreams
picture: George Grie
7 comments:
I am fasting today in solidarity with Kumi Naidoo (on a hunger strike) and Gracie Mandela and others in Southern Africa who are standing with Zimbabwe's duly elected leader, and trying to pressure Mugabe to step down. At least 35,000 of us signed on to support them.
Good show!
When I started doing my thing, there were a few anti-war fast related organizations and groups that had fallen into desuetude, and they did not respond to my enquiries.
One just has to do something, whether with a group or - if need be - all alone.
We cannot live with ourselves otherwise.
For some reason, I think the first comment here is from "Lirun", and not "Ruth".
I cannot explain the incorrect attribution.
No, it was me, that :D. I was tickled by the poem.
I must be seeing things.
I am glad you liked it.
I had no idea I would end up with an Italian sonnet on noises heard through bedroom walls.
Oh! I don't know that form.
I do like writing formal poems, there is something freeing about them, ironically.
Yes.
The form seems to force you to focus on what is important.
Post a Comment