Shadow Games

The afternoons pass,
playing guessing games
with shadows on the far wall.

See that one,
like an inkblot,
escaped from the pen
of a gutless poet;
still pursued by bloodied droplets
of unconsummated words.

Or maybe it is a folded map,
a country stretched out on its side,
its eyes closed,
its people teetering
on the edge;
their voices hoarse;
their passions coarse;
their poems, their songs,
slipping into the sideward sky.

And those rings of
quivering ripples,
as the sea sloshes around
in the perplexed clouds;
bubbles of blackened
ocean spray,
rising in a mist,
hiding the wordless truth,
hiding the poet,
chasing the sleeping inkblot.

The afternoons pass
making sense of life,
playing out on the far wall.

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37 thoughts on “Shadow Games

  1. Again a play of words that is almost breath-taking, I mean one really does catch one’s breath – a world seen sideways, and lines like this – .”of a gutless poet;still pursued by bloodied droplets
    of unconsummated words” – then the ending, all but specks on a wall…your poetry is an experience, each time.

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  2. This reminds me of the times when, as a child, my mother and I would sit in a darkened living room at night & watch the lights from passing cars dance upon its walls. As I think back, it was an ethereal experience really…so simple, yet so profound. We too played guessing games with shadows. Your last stanza is beautiful.

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  3. I like how you gather the everyday into an interesting mix of words ~ I specially like this part:

    hiding the poet,
    chasing the sleeping inkblot.

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  4. Several vivid descriptions of what shadows can be… their significance.. and then the perfect ending.. adding to the depth of this beautiful piece! Well penned πŸ™‚

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  5. This is a most beautiful poem. I was mesmerized by the afternoon playing games with shadows on the wall – and then the description of the poet and her unconsummated words…….wow! Stellar writing!

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  6. Knowing I’ll soon be trying stillness in a post op recovery gave this great meaning to me. There is poetry in the shadow play, journeys to anticipate and storms to weather. Perhaps I’ll have enough time to get it all written down–more than likely someone–even me–will consider it wasted time.

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  7. The beauty of poetry is that the most unusual things inspire us. Our imagination needs only the slightest tickle from shadows, sea and sky for then the words pour out as they have done for you today. Great poem.

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  8. Wow. What a brilliant poem. i love your imagination and how you paint such a vivid picture with words. I find this poem very meaningul. It depicts our slanted view of life, our country, the world – all in the darkness of an inkblot. Great writing!

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