Sunday, November 8, 2009

Stasis

Rocking chair sway
Here I stand again
Glued to the highest point
Stuck once more at the zenith
Where lip presses firm against tile

Complicated elements
I have lost myself again
Silent at the pinnacle
Cool and snug at the summit
And I am unrecognisable and fractious and glib

4 comments:

The Scrybe said...

Howdy blogger friends, I look forward to reading your posts :)

Jenny said...

Scrybe,

It is good to see you here. Glad that you joined this interesting poetic session.

The feeling of movement is captured in a skilful way. Fine poem. Thank you for your contribution!

Ande said...

I feel like in a maze when reading this.
Is zenith superior to a burrow?

Andy Coffey said...

Skybe,

I have seen your comments elsewhere, and am so glad to finally add my admiration to so many others.

Being me, I can't help but feel your words to beckon with a potential energy, "silent at the pinnacle" of "the zenith" of a rocking chair.

Some, among us, have never been nursed during such complicated elements. Some of us, among us, were never born on a real slave ship.

But all alive, might be said to be cool and snug at the summit...

God bless the glib. God bless the glib.

Thank you.