Thread: A Matter of Perspective

　
The moon is blond
morphing into globule,
yellow jaundice.

The wood flowers trill
while the owl is mute,
feathers dead asleep.

Twigs are twisted chairs
where fairies alight,
caressing, copulating.

The stream is the mirror
Narcissus shattered
while turning into a dead nettle.

In the morning the doctor
chewed on his pen,
black ink molted his crisp white.

“Word salad” he said to the schizophrenic
“Twigs are not twisted chairs”
The fat patient smiled.

He pitied the white coat’s universe
as doc wrote up for Stelazine
to change the poet’s mind.

this poem appeals to me because i am a schizophrenic. i love the imagery

this line is really nice

The moon is blond
morphing into globule,
yellow jaundice.

all in all I find this poem to be very sensual and amazing


maybe the title?

maybe not..

Thank you Eli! I just added to the ending which I think makes for the more impactful. My mother was a grand poet and also a schizophrenic.

nice...lol

Thanks!

Thoughtful and fanciful. It's nice to consider the acceptance of such differing perspectives, and sad to observe how often a different point of view or way of thinking is cast in a negative light. Obvious extremes exist that necessitate some sort of correction, but in general, how much better off we surely are to be open to another's perceptions of reality. Really, how much of what is perceivable through our accepted 5 senses accurately portrays what actually is happening? The hidden, the mysterious, the wild, the unseen... Occassional glimpses into an alternate perception of reality might yield for us all a better understanding and acceptance of the true dynamic among the human race.

Such a line of thought immediately followed reading and re-reading your poem. Thanks.

Yes, JB. Thinking, expressing ourselves away from the mainstream makes for an isolation whereas we should all be looking for some kind humane connections. You summed up my poem very accurately. Thank for your insight and attention. Laurie

Very nice Laurie, and knowing your story I can see exactly where this came from. I love the ending also, in fact, my favorite part. But the images are wonderful too.

Thank you, Cindy. Glad you enjoyed. I always say I like a twist in the end!

Good job. I enjoyed this one.


“Word salad” he said to the schizophrenic
“Twigs are not twisted chairs”

Is that the terrible fate of some poets, to have their work read and interpreted only by the white coats.

I thought this very unique, Loved the imagery. Fine work, Laurie

Stonefly:

Is that the terrible fate of some poets, to have their work read and interpreted only by the white coats.

LOL! I guess if the white coats read posthumous works! But I do share mine with my pshyciatirst and he gives me an extra half hour for free.

Thanks for enjoying!

Sondra: Thank you and am glad you enjoyed the imagery. What's the most fun about writing poetry for me.

Laurie

I guess this could be seen different ways sorry that's only the title

Seriously, there were images that brought thoughts to my mind that I am fairly sure were not originally in yours; "the wood flowers trill", we have a flower that covers the floor of woods in early spring that has the common name of "wind flower" because of the way it flutters in the slightest breeze; "the owl is mute, feathers dead asleep", when the world was covered in snow last week everything was silent and the sound of small birds flying to and fro from the bird table seemed really loud, when I went down to feed the owl she hooted at me, but swooped silently down for her food, there is something special about owl's feathers that keep them silent. This sort of diversity of view is one of the joys of some sorts of good poetry, thank you, that part is lovely. "Molted his crisp white" I love the restraint of not adding a noun, again my mind can roam, paper, coat, ... mind?
Only point I might pick up on is having two "He's" in the last stanza refering to different people, possibly change the first one to "And". Then again I wonder is the ambiguity intentional, you are capable of it.

Olly, what a generous and precious review! Reading it from your "reviewing" take I'm in awe of the way you observe nature and your love for it. While being literal was not my intention, I did want the reader to step outside of the box, per usual.

Molted his crisp white

You pegged it exactly! I wanted the reader's mind to roam. And to add anything else, I think, would be insulting the reader's intelligence.

Thank you, fellow poet.

Love this, Laurie, big time. Superb imagery, fantastic turns of phrase and I could just kiss you for that last stanza. "Crisp white" is sheer genius. I have to admit, I really enjoyed Olly's foray into nature as well. Excellent effort. Now off with you, I want more, and soon.