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...............oranges.........................

I can smell them in the kitchen
feel them in the rains that thundered in
hurricane season
the power flickering
the stereo pausing in mid step
frightened of its voice

a lonesome howl in the wires

tobacco blossom perfume
in a screw lid compact
moving I went from room
to room

dusky closets
with oilcloth
worn bare

a chair with a leaning leg
kneeling to tie her laces
the one bad knee from
the crash as a child

the cloves I never thought
of checking through the till
I was staring at the hill
wanting to be up there
away from the ruckus

(away from her)

wash alone in the shower
the hot steam
not needing to save water

stare at the fractures in the
ceiling where time has settled
and riddled the roof of this
room like veins

I inhale and close my eyes
and beyond the mould
from the bad grout
and tired matress

just over the edge of the
carbolic soap I wash my
hair with

I remember the cloves
sharp and spicey

my amazement of
something she made
for me

"For christmas"

I was always ready for
the afterlife
and when I leave
with my sandwich case
and passport
I want an orange
with cloves

de riguer

Editing stage: 

Comments

I admire your use of such succinct sentences, to describe so perfectly the scene. Very mindful of Haiku. I don't know if these are memories of your own acquistion or made up, but either/or... your writing continues to amaze me. ~ Gee

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or minded dogs..We had rental places for a time..bank owned everything but
we tended them... putting in people..meeting them..moving out their stuff
and cleaning up..collecting rent..cutting grass..I had a shortbox ford truck
Like the little Black One they shoot the hell out of in EL MARIACHI
same style!! my LawnBoy mower and equipment..I enjoyed this.
but it was sad seeing peoples left overs...the joy of forgotten toys..
sometimes photos etc...and then when we lived storage to storage
town to town...there was always the rubbish bins full of items still good
and yet useless too.. My mom used oilcloth on our shelves in the basement
for the canned goods my dads mom made us from their garden she and
granpa..the potato bin beside the big red oil tank..ESSO and the old
furnace with the ceramic mica window the water that seeped in one side
and down the drain on the other..The piston pump that keep us time
in the night...I taught the girls about oranges and cloves...
they taught me about life beyond books and my narcism
my issues of ghosts and mists that I still deal with

When I left the girls here for a year
it was very very hard

The more I get into the depth of what I went through
looking to my left and then my right I can write this
out without feeling the intense emotions I did at the
times..still pretty intense though
and I will probably dream much tonight
but if it makes my writing more real
or even more surreal
so the reader may personaly identify closely
then thats what I want to acheive

but a lot of this is personal memory
and experience

Thank You

author comment

let me just say, i have missed you! yet another great write from the great poet. loved it.
yours,
mag

the heart thats breaking on a sleeve
the bittersweet wind that tears at the leave
the slow november
the long for remember..

I wanted to become what I read
waking up from dreams needing
portions of the world to travel
in the pain of today

its still there
like a jacket favoured I wear

nice to see you again Mag!

author comment

That you write as you do,
Is from all those memories.
That you hold not so dear
But they were life that gave you
the edge on the world.
that you grasp and tell.

You talk to us
through those words
I believe that your memory
Is as gold
Being gilded with wisdom
Therein you are.

Flowing thoughts we love
Never let your pen run dry
Feed us we are hungry.

Yours as always, Ian.T

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

as a rough draft, ok but this needs a lot of work,
eg
stare at the fractures in the
ceiling where time has settled
and riddled the roof of this
room like veins

time is abstract it doesn't settle, its the effects of the weather that has riddled the roof, also you conflate the roof and the ceiling, where are the veins? on the roof or on the ceiling or on both, fractured means broken, veins flow and don't have .
I being super critical here to keep you on your toes
less is more
best wishes
ross

winds on the sill.or silence and the snows
"Fractures" like fractions...I hated math but love it
a strange conundrum
I can fit anger in the large chunks
the joy in the small quadrants
like stained glass above me
only its white oil based enamel
//
Ceiling..a technical phrase
indicating just a plane
I think of space..of low clouds
terms of how far thoughts and
ambitions can be set...

but It makes one think when
reading the poem..Look up
in thoughts in memory
not back nor aside nor down

Time has settled..

In my travels in exploring
buildings ruins
its always the ceilings that melt
the paint falling from them
the plaster tile drywall oozing

egyptian king caves where the
frescos have descended
and walls survived the "ceilings"
sloughed off

its an interesting technical aspect of
decay that I find appealing
most things being a liquid state
of some form or another

riddled...as in How did this get to
this state?? and at the end of a long
day or upon awakening first thing
the riddle..What is today...what must
I do..

the cracks are Veins of travel Pressure
runs....In winter on the ice one can see
it occur beneath ones feet on cold cold
nights when the aurora is out and the
wind is blowing stressing its surface
Lakes Im talking about

In venous terms the pressure of the heart
runs along this weakest structure
and this is where the stress of creation
of fault lies...For stroke patients mostly
and blocked arteries
but the veins are the tiniest things

I spent hours in that room following the
big assed "artery" fault lines to the miniscule
"veins"

if it were an aircraft wing or tank holding
liquid or the hull of an undersea ship
or space craft these would be cause for
some concern

and whom sees these things

we are busy in our passing
no time to question the riddle or
the settling

strange that people who have had
brushs with calamity now do yoga
and zen.. I know a few and they
seem to be balanced

I see the cracks feel the stress
and I still jump to it in the morning

The Roof...good question
another thing this!!

thank you for putting the critical to me
in this manner
Its been some time since I had
such a technical evaluation of
conversation

The last time was in 2001
with a filing clerk whom worked
for a law firm
we would meet in a small chain
variety store at the coffee machine
which thinking back was natural
now

these are all just drafts
and some day should go
and finish polishing up a few

Thank You!

author comment

as usual, i love this

great descriptive
truly – I could smell the scene as well as see it, and i felt the melancholy...

love the personification in
‘the stereo pausing in mid step
frightened of its voice’

and again the personification of time as well as the great simile of cracks and veins in
‘stare at the fractures in the
ceiling where time has settled
and riddled the roof of this
room like veins’

great write esker
love judy
xxx

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

there were better writers
More action vividness
I opted for careful set up
Like dioramas I loved
in musuems then..

and then the lore of the miniature
set ups..
Not a great whole fan of such things
but realize how one can visualize things
in the mind much better with
a small three d version for lighting
atmosphere mood

We were taught by good teachers
to stretch as much in our minds
its all about flexibility to get beyond
that comfort level

and make it look easy
its a hard task to think in this manner
when one is not used to it

I keep working at it though
like I have to work at going to
part time work

a six klick bike ride one way
and then back

mittens today and fighting wind
the real world..
thank You

author comment

you must cease
lest others find cracks
in your vocabulary ,
none the less thank me
for having the guts to read
still thee
epicurial I mean
totally abstract this

loved

Im doomed it seems
so I fare thee well

our hearts are on our sleeves
and the straight blade gang is alive
and well
cutting strings
the melted tin of hearts
a providence on the black of the market

but dont you worry
there is a guiding body above
that prevails
and gives out seconds

I am ONLY an old poet Loved
nothing more nothing less

I walk my dogs and write
you NEOPOETERS

oh the stress!!! ha ha ha

I like the we think similar in simile
Loved

a sign that you and both I are poets
and belong here with all the
other poets!!

bravo Neo

author comment

I like the we think similar in simile
Loved

a sign that you and both I are poets
and belong here with all the
other poets!!

loved

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