The Great Machine That Gives Things Meaning
Is this what waking feels like? I cannot
distinguish it from dream. The chain of cause
and consequence is broken and the great
machine that gives things meaning has begun
to fall asunder. Big things have no weight,
and little things weigh heavy. The entire
planet I walk on separates from trust
and is made strange. Familiar faces loom,
they’re saying words that I will not forget –
the treasure-house of memory is turned
to a new purpose. Should we chance to meet,
remember my condition. I have not
forgotten you, forgotten manners yet.
You note my dreaming eyes – for sleep has caught
my chambered mind. I am not free to wake,
I walk through town a prisoner in broad
all-seeing daylight, and I might as well
be in pajamas and tucked up in bed.
The Great Machine That Gives Things Meaning
Greetings, John,
This appears to be another night poem of sorts. For members of the Coo-mmunity, it captures what can be a vulnerable time on waking, trying to make sense of things. We're slightly reminded of Yeats, with things falling apart, trust in this instance (*v*)
S2 intrigues for its introduction of the 'you', causing us to ponder the relationship past and present. The prisoner is intriguing too; we're a little tired now and shall return. Of course the final line is excellent (^v^)
Cheerie,
F & (^v^)
This appears to be another night poem of sorts. For members of the Coo-mmunity, it captures what can be a vulnerable time on waking, trying to make sense of things. We're slightly reminded of Yeats, with things falling apart, trust in this instance (*v*)
S2 intrigues for its introduction of the 'you', causing us to ponder the relationship past and present. The prisoner is intriguing too; we're a little tired now and shall return. Of course the final line is excellent (^v^)
Cheerie,
F & (^v^)
Greetings, Fliss and Coo!
Yes, it is a night poem, in a way - it was inspired by mental illness, where one sleepwalks in a way through the day, a sort opf lucid dreaming. You are quite right that waking is a vulnerable time, and I am always happy to remind someone of Yeats!
Ah, the prisoner is caught in their own mind here. Glad you enjoyed the final line!
Cheerie,
John
Yes, it is a night poem, in a way - it was inspired by mental illness, where one sleepwalks in a way through the day, a sort opf lucid dreaming. You are quite right that waking is a vulnerable time, and I am always happy to remind someone of Yeats!
Ah, the prisoner is caught in their own mind here. Glad you enjoyed the final line!
Cheerie,
John
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ray miller
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Enjoyed the read.Good title. for sleep has caught my chambered mind. - nice phrase.
separates from trust - bit of an awkward term, that.
separates from trust - bit of an awkward term, that.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
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ray miller
- Perspicacious Poster
- Posts: 7402
- Joined: Wed Apr 23, 2008 10:23 am
I'd have thought something like shifts, or gives way, beneath my feet and is made strange. But maybe that's not what you want.
I'm out of faith and in my cups
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
I contemplate such bitter stuff.
Hmm. Your angle makes a lot of sense, but I am hoping to find a way to indicate how trust is worn away for the mentally ill: others don't partiuclarly trust them, and they have difficulty trusting others. Our human fabric is anchored in trust and its loss is, to my mind, tragic. It makes for a world of somewhat hostile strangers.
Cheers,
John
Cheers,
John