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DRIPPINg

Submitted by Esker on Thu, 2016-10-27 23:54

She stirs beside him
the dream sky blazing
behind her sleeping
lids
awnings wound down
like shops on the fetid
street
canyons of laundry
fire escape and wires
and Above..the sky
clouds like islands
of white...that
would turn their
anvil greys and
lash with the fury
of the godesses
Exploding park
trees...Rooftop
antennaes and
the old green
GE transformers
but this is not
her dream
Or the day which
wrestles in through
a cracked window
pane..just yellow
sticky tape down
its sickle path
the plastic blown
off in a winter storm
Like now...Snow
leaks melted on
the un insulated
single pane a
damp palm drown
down the window
sash..into the
plaster painted
a sea froth green
circa 1979
Pilings...
the bridge
the dune grass
hisses
far off the Sea
rolling down the
beach..
She loves the
smell of it
tangy and rich
organic
a primitive
shiver
goosebumps
on her arms
furrow on her
brow
her eyelids
flutter
REM as
the winds
moan down
the chimney
pipes to the
boiler room
flip the tin flap
on the exhaust
fan from the kitchen
Even the roaches
are quiet and sleeping
The bridge is old
washed out in a hurricane
in 2003
but she remembers 98'
the clam diggers
the romper
the jacket with Ray Bans
Buicks parked in the middle
dampness from the air
conditioner pooling under
the motor...
Her father sleeping
in the passenger seat
He's driven through
five states...complained
of an upset stomach
hasnt said a word
Sleeping like a baby
she thinks
too excited to
soak in this moment
He promised me the
sea...
And then she sees her
that Monet women..
all in black
the veil

The wind buffets
the building
she moans
he stirs
the lady knows
I know
she says
aloud
It comes out
loud and clear
I wont let U
take him..
He's my daddy....
she races
his head against
the passenger
door
his hair caught
in the wind
one look
and she knows

she always
wakes up
sitting bolt
upright
screaming
his name

Outside a
smash of lightening
in the mixed weather
knocks out half
the town
evening
burning candles
huddled beneath
make shift
mounds of blankets
downing a box of
wine she finds
comfort within

Did she walk in the
sea...
dive into its embrace
thats where the found
her..alive
and distant
a year and three
months in an upstate
institution

the snow drips
like the rains
sometimes she
remembers sitting
in the troopers
car
shivering with
a grey blanket
when she looks
out the window
she always sees
the Monet women
winter spring
summer
or fall....

..

Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

Esker

Fri, 2016-10-28 00:05

Esker's picture

my construct..

author comment

Roscoe Lane

Sat, 2016-10-29 04:41

Roscoe Lane's picture

Excellent, I had to look up Camille and the story came flooding back. You truly are unique in this form of writing. Regards Roscoe...

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

Esker

Sat, 2016-10-29 12:31

Esker's picture

I sense from your works and words over the time
that U believe in an order...admidst the great chaos
and disorder of man and the universe...
Yes...Camille....he painted her in white
in the time of that dress period of the Edwardian
till the roaring twenties of prohobition and womens
libs...Suffergete to Teddy Roosevelt and the
wars.....first and second...

for some reason I thought she was in black dress..
Even the Lasinthe drinkers in the parisian bar
that caused such a ruckus in its day..I looked
and even she is in cheery cloth...

When I was a child I saw a women in period
dress running..a friend on a bike was pedaling
along...I thought she was racing this woman...
when she came up to me I asked her about
her race chum and she said there was no one
running beside her.....I was a child then
and I knew the period dress was a give away...
I didnt press it and knew that I had seen
and apparition
and that many of my visions as they come
and go during times of stress now is part
of that gift...or Kurse...
its a power....and I never use it for bad
trusting that If one serves the bad
then the bad shall be equated upon
ones soul and head...
Here...not in the afterlife...
I have seen Karma do its work...

No Camille is lovely in her white
even in death...

and the TB in its day
and Laudlin addiction
L asynthe etc...

People pass on
but before they do
they share a gift
Such as the persona male
driving his daughter to
see the sea

All things eventually
settled
much of it is based on
my life....
I didnt die but I left
my daughters life
and she did have a harsh
time but got through it
with help and gets
a pension for the
whole thing she had
to endure as a child...

my grey eyes..being shunned
as a child for weird ness
due to the trauma
and brilliance like Aspbergers
super brilliant in some areas
and complete blanks in others...
everyone has a gift...
the option to share it is
option....

the rest is creative venue
which is the interesting
Einstein spoke of....

thank U for believing in the poems

Mr Esker!

author comment

Phoenix

Sat, 2016-10-29 10:23

I loved this how lovley and powerful! Crayons of laundry!

Esker

Sat, 2016-10-29 12:37

Esker's picture

Crayons of Laundry.....
this would make a fantastic book title for poetry...
He did have a will....
she got the buick
she drove the last little bit to the beach
he had a heart condition
eighty per cent of his heart blocked
they were pulling his liscence
He was helping his ex
he signed the paperwork to the hospital
and knew they were pulling his
Liscense...all this is fiction based
on my true friends...
but Even my characters have
endings in my head...

My readers are human
my friends are
no matter what conditions
..
the female character
went through a lot
the father did not
want to let her just
have a memory of
his suffering
He almost made
it...
a crushing defeat
for the female persona
in the story
but she got a lot of help
met a lot of new people
she was not alone
then

Drove the Buick for years
till it calved...
and still carrys her father
within her heart...

Thank U for the fantastic
comment!

Mr Wolf!

author comment
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