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Post by Bobby Slais on Jul 1, 2007 6:52:24 GMT -5
Today they sent my neighbor home from the hospital, to die, delivered back to his door, the ambulance lights not flashing. Disease has shaped every side of him now, reaching a pointed tip where all light dims. I only met him once, as I am new here, introduced as “Roger... he’s terminal” by his wife. In her radiant blue eyes, I could see fear and pain. He has suffered. Family members gather to see him off, their memories of him packed away like luggage, connected, energy focused to the end. Alone in the dark, I feel a cool whiff of air pass by me, the motion detector lights on my house and theirs turn on, no one can be seen. This light radiates like a beacon for him to see the place we are where he is loved most. At last, he has departed, one more flight, as he climbs higher, reaching a different plane.
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Post by Dunstan Attard on Jul 6, 2007 15:34:37 GMT -5
what strikes me in this poem is what i percieve to be a keen sense of observation; the result of a sensitivity ... the ambulance lights not flashing...that slices through the specific aspects of death with a resolve to seek death's inevitability within a culture that misreads the ultimate absorbing experience as horror...excellent choice of words (with the exception of plane...if it is meant as a play on words it did not work for me as it felt as a metal ending to a sublime voyage). love reading/exploring your works
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Post by Bobby Slais on Jul 12, 2007 8:33:44 GMT -5
Thanks Dunstan
I have to agree with you about the ending bit. I have never been totally happy with this piece.
I got stuck on the multilple "Terminal" metaphors and doing that just made it get too fragmented. I will look into revision and some paring down.
Cheers! Bobby
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