Fly Swatters

The virtues of a superior man are like the wind; the virtues of a common man are like the grass; the grass, when the wind passes over it, bends. - Thoreau

a blue summer breeze

finds its way into a decadent den of depression

the one with the low ceilings

sheltering misguided, dispirited feelings

the one with a weeping willow in the sloping yard

harboring a few miniscule lives that are deluded and hard

this banal breath of bulimia continues along its destined path

under the window sash that is nearly impossible to open

through the dirty screen with holes

past the ill-conceived, second-hand, lace curtains

eventually reaching the thwarted, dejected inhabitants inside

tired of asking their haunting how's and wretched why's

jaded from swatting wrathful flies

no one hears their profane, forlorn cries

no one sees beyond their mendacious, faux guise

as the austere drag of a violin dies

Author's Note

“I cannot come nearer to God and Heaven
Than I live to Walden even.
I am its stony shore,
And the breeze that passes o'er;
In the hollow of my hand
Are its water and its sand,
And its deepest resort
Lies high in my thought.” - Thoreau

Reviews

[Oydrin]

Applause for keeping a dilapidated feeling flowing so easily and so solidly constructed. I found a tinge of self-deprecating apathy in the lines -- it had the sullen but not really wallowing feel. I imagine the persona to be aware but unfazed by his sad situation -- knowing and not trying.

Much appreciated. Keep writing!

P.S. Yes, Thoreau is a quite a mind, and I'm also trying to acquaint myself with his writings -- starting with Self Reliance. Cheers!

[Pete]

you get used to it after a while and stop asking why. your observations are quite accurate. enjoy the thoreau ... :)

[Oydrin]

Hey, may I share your poem on Facebook? Credits will undoubtedly be yours because it's got your name on it. Please?

Thanks.

[Pete]

if you like. i don't see why not ... :)

[Oydrin]

Shared it, Pete. Thanks.

[barleygirl]

You have definitely nailed the gut-wrenching quality of ugliness, as served up by poverty. You shot off some zingers in word-crafting: "decadent den of depression" . . . "banal breath of bulimia" . . . "thwarted, dejected inhabitants" . . . but an iconic symbol of poverty must be the ever-present flies, which is why your title is so abuzz (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Pete]

thanks. interestingly, as the old saying goes, you can catch more of them with honey than vinegar ... :)