the Conversations

1 Comments

the Conversations

and the best thing

would be to perform
One spoke as the two men sat
at the small table in the corner
amidst the clutter of dishes and voices
A single flower long-stemmed and fine
tipped to one side in the slender glass vase
And the waiters came and went
in their judicious haste
Outside the air well into spring
the sky a high dove's egg
pale blue and speckled across the center
The wine rich and earthy
and their chairs on the uneven boards
the voices mixed and melting
into a kind of foliage
in the room reserved for the foreigners
The two men sat in their business suits
learning to wear their disguises
and how to place the cup to the side
And the one man said
he would be a performer
and the other thought he's too intense
It isn't played that way
It's an accident he thought
And the soufflés came
and the salt and peppers went around
And the fans turned slowly overhead
like the twisting prop of a dying airplane
So when did you come here?
It was long ago
I came here for love
Didn't you?
Oh yes, in a manner
yes, the other said
nodding his head
I just have to find a way to express it
These things happen incidentally, don't they?
Yes, that is, if you pursue them
And it's best to know people
who speak in a foreign language
You can understand them more clearly
when you don't know

what they are saying

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Synerjyz commented on the Conversations

05-29-2009

Hi, The title and first few stanzas drew me in. I followed thinking I'd find something but I didn't really. I wanted to be drawn closer to this vibe... the voices mixed and melting into a kind of foliage in the room reserved for the foreigners The two men sat in their business suits learning to wear their disguises ~ I like this language very much. Wish I could hear more about their disguises.

usaforklift

10/28/2009

Wow, there's no formatting in thereplies. Maybe I'll posted this little menace separately. haha

usaforklift

10/28/2009

Hi, sorry I took so long to get back to you. I didn't see your comment until now. Here's something, a crazy thing I wrote. Errant Demise 1. People that know me had grown to despise me flies lit upon my face the air was stale I was stale and yet I chose to revel in it I figured there was nothing one could do to change his fate but at least I could treat scorn with scorn I knew they scorned me It was obvious from their blank expressions I didn’t pretend to know everything but some things you could just sense Now my situation is not that difficult really That is what people always say ignorant people actually for we are all marvelously complex And it is to that complexity that I say I may be aberrant but at least I have not lost my personality But please don’t misinterpret these feeble words I am not making a political statement regarding the banality that creeps into our lives Or as to its source or causes or even as to its implications far be it from me to say 2. They all wear masks the hallways are like aisles in a clothing store the foyer resembles a grand ball the count and countess are disguised as peasants And the feeble and disinherited dress up as kings looking around I realized the stupendous irony of it all Everyone is wearing two sets of masks the second set being the ones they don’t take off at night I was so wise 3. I knew there were fleas jumpers that’s what they are lively critters little acrobats They bred on the animals we tamed and brought into our homes I had never seen them actually they hid away in the carpeting and upholstery for no purpose except to breed all part of the harmony monotony Whichever way you will have it whatever suits a man is what I say Our affairs don’t bear closer scrutiny that is where madness begins I won’t go spiraling off the way some do I’ll be contented with my lot 4. The windows were smudged and covered with

usaforklift

10/28/2009

film One day I carved a large round spot in the pane to see out And the next day I didn’t care One’s opinions were one’s own and best kept put with minor exceptions I was fidgety and my head itched I lay down and stared at the stain in the ceiling

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

usaforklift’s Poems (16)

Title Comments
Title Comments
The Night 0
Errant Demise 0
Love in L.A. 0
Unless 2
Ming 1
How did You Know? 0
Dancing on a Day Moon 1
the Conversations 1
King of Microwave 0
How Day is Done 0
Secret (the) 0
And you Think you Know What Politics is 0
Stand on the Rock 0
Mosquito 0
Every Ounce Counts 0
Breath of Sea 1