Parapraxis

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Teetering on the tight rope –

Stretched between here and there –

Like prehensile tails my toes

Form around the cord, clinging

In the hope of love; of a moment

That will warm my heart and

Ease the torment that I live with,

Or the flash of divine intervention

That will cleanse everything I see

In one magnificent outburst

That, like x-rays, will penetrate all

That exists – all that has been created.

 

Youth has left me, dried and regretful

I call it nostalgia but it is more –

It is the recognition of what is lost

And may never be again:

Like the gentle breath of Robert

Who, on Sunday, died all alone.

Or blessed passion spent upon

Make-believe clouds of her desire.

The smoothness of youthful flesh,

The stamina of sprightly muscles,

The infinity of the far off horizon –

The ignorance of sybaritic youth.

 

Arms outstretched to balance

The passage from here to there,

Aching from ancient exertion,

From stiffened veins and skin.

In my mind there is the torment

Of a question – like so much more,

Never ever spoken or revealed –

That whispers incessant in my ears,

“Can I hang on long enough

To reach the end unbroken?”

Or will I fall – to be finally captured

By Hades regurgitating floor?

 

© griffonner 2021
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Ifyouplease

ασυνειδητη πραξη παραπραξια
in Greek, an act without conscious intention, am I correct? so in a way we are captured by Hades regurgitating floor ‘chasing the other horizon’ to echo Supratik, since there are two opposite horizons both ultimately as vain as the floor, the one chases the horizon of life the other of death – over and over again. it can be done without a rope which reminds me of Batman. a spiritual poem and psychoanalytical. love death without fear of life and love life without fear of death or despise both without affection for either.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXxw-zXRqOs

Bhi

I will have to read this sitting by the fire tonight and saviour the passage of this poem. A poem full of emotion, pathos, and longing.

This was the standout piece for me:

“blessed passion spent upon
Make-believe clouds of her desire.”

bhi

Dodgem

Life, balancing on the tight rope; and where is it anchored – from where to there? Is it the price we pay, that we can recall, regret? To live in the moment – how difficult; this has been a piece to give thought to – much thought and contemplation.

Stormwolf

OMG! I so relate. We walk the tightrope all our days …between life and death, between infuriating some by being ourselves or keeping that part private at personal expense. To suit whom? I always said that poverty descended on me like a night’s caress. By that I mean that when I left my husband, I really believed all would be well financially and I believed that mirage as bit by bit all material security was stripped away until I was going down the back of the settee and coat pockets for loose change. Same as youth…. We are in one… Read more »

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