Skip to main content

The Pallid Soul

This is my most recent submission to a poetry magazine. Like the others, it was rejected. I think I have only one really successful and clear poem, "Seasons." This one, though fitting to the free verse era, may be too unclear; or maybe it is just generally not very good! I can still share it with anyone who might happen to stop by here, though, can't I? The key to this poem is the doorman who guards the house. The poem is called "The Pallid Soul."

This soul, wan,
Pulsates slow and cold,
And buzzes like a crackling neon sign
That flickers from want of current.
Its doorman, too, leaning fallow,
Tips his Stetson
Perusing the eyes of its guests
For nothing more
Than to dress the future down
For a boy in man’s clothing.
On that fellow who lingers long
Cascades a systematic silence
While its doorman pulls the Stetson down,
Shivers,
And leaves the stoop to lock a creaking door.

Labels

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A White Post-Christmas

I just came back from my brother's renewal of vows. He lives in Wisconsin, and this particular week, they experienced colder-than-average temperatures. I could tell because my hands began to go numb as I attempted to tie down a trailer after last night's reception. As a result, I appreciated the fact that the temperature in Stockton was in the mid-sixties when I came back. It was, however, good to take part in this, a dream of my brother and sister-in-law, after at least two years without seeing them. I saw the incredible support of their friends, who helped set up the day before, took part on the day of the event, and stayed late to help clean up. Aware of how tired everyone was late last night, one of Chris's friends even lent Chris his truck to take the last of the decorations home, a favor that allowed the family to return home before two o'clock in the morning last night. Here are some of the highlights: 1. Hearing on a plane what sounded like a baby's fi...
Post a Comment
Read more

Heroes

Although we have several examples of heroes in our day, one of the best known is of a woman named Agnes Gonxhe Bojaxhiu (“Gonja Bojaju”), who devoted her life to sustaining the “poor, sick, orphaned, and dying.” Her venue was Calcutta, India, where she served as a teacher until she began to take notice of the poverty there. Seeking to do something about it, she began an organization that consisted of just thirteen members at its inception. Called the “Missionaries of Charity,” the organization would eventually burgeon into well over 5,000 members worldwide, running approximately 600 missions, schools and shelters in 120 countries; and caring for the orphaned, blind, aged, disabled, and poor. As her personal work expanded, she traveled to countries like Lebanon, where she rescued 37 children from a hospital by pressing for peace between Israel and Palestine; to Ethiopia, where she traveled to help the hungry; to Chernobyl, Russia, to assist victims of the nuclear meltdown there; and to ...
2 comments
Read more

The Nice Guy Fallacy

I read part of a poem recently by one of my favorite poets. It reads: I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage The linnet born within the cage That never knew the summer woods. I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time Unfetter'd by the sense of crime To whom a conscience never wakes. Nor what may call itself as bles't The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth Nor any want-begotten rest. I hold it true, whate'er befall I feel it, when I sorrow most 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. At base, Tennyson contrasted a life of risk, and consequent pain, with one of security. He sides conclusively with the life of risk, and says he fails to envy those who have faced no hardship. I agree with him; and, for good or ill, his words are just as relevant today as they were in the nineteenth century. Like then, there are those today who choose to live their lives with as little risk as...
2 comments
Read more