Saturday, November 15, 2008

Sunday Scribblings #137: Stranger

I am a stranger in this place,
laid out in a perfect
grid like a thousand midwestern acres
or a New England town,
solid and square, boundary lines
unmoveable. If I could

just jump the fence,
scale the stone wall,
skate in circles around your careful
map. Figure eights.

I don't know the rules; my blades
have rusted with time and neglect.
I mix my metaphors yet again—
my tongue is twisted and inept.
I long for paper and pen,
the cool comfort of written wordplay.

(To see more takes on the prompt "Stranger," visit Sunday Scribblings.)


B. Roan said...

I'm much for brilliant in writing than in person. Genuinely enjoyable poem. BJ

"Sunshine" said...

Cool poem. My favorite part is where you want to skate figure-8s on the map. Awesome!

Lilly said...

I love the descriptions of 'place' in this poesm...and everything else!

Linda Jacobs said...

I feel for the narrator. Paper and pen are so comfortable to me but trying anything new is scary!

Love the way you wrote this!

anno said...

Oh, I love this, and maybe especially the yearning expressed in those lines beginning "If I could..." and which then fall off into the next stanza.

And, like you, I'd much rather be writing...

~*sis*~ said...

sometimes writing makes more sense than speaking.
great words! :)

Granny Smith said...

As someone whose handwriting has become illegible of late, this had a nostalgic appeal.Those neat squares are pixels, are they not? Or am I reading this correctly?

tumblewords said...

I enjoyed reading this, the layers are nicely done.

Susan Helene Gottfried said...

Ooh, this is cool. There's a lot going on here; I'd love to take this into a group of real poetry lovers and have them unpack it. I bet they'd see some really neat things in here.

Mary said...

Nicely done. I love the mixed metaphors.