This Poem was Submitted By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2006-12-13 00:50:46 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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The Métier of Sleeping

As for An Appendectomy  For Mr. Scheffer, Esq. 0233 As if I’d said something magical. All I said was â€œComplacencies of the peignoir” And he is off into his dream world of lust: A Sunday morning tryst, a lemon twist, The tart start to a sweet day, in the hay, And the nightgown: was it salmon pink? Was it chiffon mint?  Long and sleek? Flowing?  A shirt he’d lent her long ago? The relaxed attitude of the replete. The inscrutability of a rock lobster. Blessing himself with that line he moved on To cover the pension plans that religions Advertise to the common sinner: bliss. Or this.  [Knife -] Half the alligators and all the crocodiles Lined up to protest the great collapse. How immersed you’ve been.  You missed it all. Homer was a woman.  And greater secrets Than that to be revealed.  Stick around. The women will entice you.   You won’t regret it.   He is on his knees now in church  As a youth praying to his patron St. Ophelia [Clamp] O!  St. Peter: Let them in. The line is long and I’m at the back end. Blue tile above the cooktop.  Water. Grey skies above the leafless trees. The eagle has landed.  His icy roost Melting in the December heat wave. No sun.  Enough heat to melt the lake. Black pox breakout across the grey skin Mottled and weak.  No men walk the ice. The fish beneath huddle around campfires. The oldest bass regales the school with an older tale. Bridge-decks will be slippery on the morning commute. NASCAR here we come!   [suck in here, please] Did I empty the trash on the way out? Fog weighs heavily upon the land, Pressing the cold compress against our foreheads. A biting wind cuts through the cottons,  Past the boxers, the boxcars, the rockstars. Two cars spar in the street under the lamp on the corner. Cannot we get along?  Nature loved that one. [here we go] Seeing is believing. She saw how good it was and brought it back. Have you seen the kitchen scissors? Menial work after a long day in the chamber. “King of Beers” it says in here. Tha’s me! on the far wall. Jesus is on this wall.  Neon. There's an asshole. Venial sins for December 12. {                                       } (Only God can read that line.) Cheese and crackers.  That greatest of inventions: The Wire Cheese Cutter Attached to the Granite Slab With a Groove Where it Cuts. King. [No more deaths than in the Holy War.] They need NASCAR.  Then they would settle down and drink beer sensible. One of the Saints, I suppose.  The early signs are anyway. Voices and long gowns, the fleeting-est of visions. These are the bases, the fundament, the earth.                             kinda like Vowels:  dr ndspnsbl. Recent activity would suggest another conclusion. Less of that and more of this and you’re good. Bene. [4-0 chromic] Ugaritic keeps coming back to me. And the picture outside the Quonset hut. I was there and yet there is no memory of me. Pictorially I am allowed to be there and remember. Verbs. [pickups] Herb was a guy we knew in school. He was very cruel.  No.  Cool. The plunger is done plunging. His recollection of this event will be limited to the other place. That will be [is] a fact. You can live without one.  Even many. Considering how big it was, he’s lucky he came in. The train is near the station.  It is slowing.  The whistle It is blowing.  The faces are close.  There are voices. The bustle. Out the doors that open with a hiss. Miss!  Miss!  Sun(some)light squeezes in past the squinting lids: Smoke.  I smell smoke. FIRE!  FIRE! oh dear god it hurts what the #$%@ is that pain in my...

Copyright © December 2006 Thomas Edward Wright

This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2007-01-11 11:06:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
you did empty the trash - everything is clean and shining -- bravo. just this note left on the wall { } signed St.Ophelia anyway, Herb borrowed kitchen sissors a long time ago but it was you who you took the wisk - and won great stuff R

This Poem was Critiqued By: Ellen K Lewis On Date: 2007-01-04 02:33:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.91667
Moody like the blues, chirping like scotch and downright confusing this tricky piece is fun. I'm having some trouble following through with all of your thoughts, but those that do 'hit' are bizarre. It's a fascinating tale. Your very first line is good. It has a strong 'feel' to help lead this reader through. This verse is magical in itself. **I must confess I am not a fan of this style, and am not well equipped to offer evaluation.** Half the alligators and all the crocodiles Lined up to protest the great collapse. How immersed you’ve been. You missed it all. Homer was a woman. And greater secrets Than that to be revealed. Stick around. The women will entice you. You won’t regret it. He is on his knees now in church As a youth praying to his patron St. Ophelia **hmmm. I think I sense a little anger here....a little bit indignant. (surgery does that to me too) and then you get morbid. Now that is of course my personal choice of words, and most readers probably won't see it that way. I love the blank line that only God can read! Cheese and crackers. ...that made me smile! another sudden twist (can I have my lemon zest with these?) And from there I continue to be lost. I know that anesthesia can do really weird things to the mind. That is the only way I can relate to this. What of the 'fire? Is this more of the same, a halucination or a real drill? Either way, you left me hanging on the end. Ok. So now I can't exactly say that I really enjoyed this. I prefer honesty over flattery; I hope you feel the same. I don't wish to offend anyone-I'm just not enlightened to it, that's all. Sorry I can offer no more. Ellen
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2006-12-28 11:11:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Ho, The vermiform appendix. Unecessary organ. Perhaps. So why not cut the damn thing off and put it in the bin with the tonsils? Metaphor, my friend, can be a deadly and deceptive tool. You should know that. The appendix is not in the brain. Cut the Referrent of the referrent (of your appendix metaphor) out of that, or the heart, and all hell would (will) break loose. God can not be disproved. "You" are left with dogma, your dogma. Aristotle, Plato. Aquinas, and some others have made much more respectable actions of intellect toward a rational proof of the One God than those on the other side toward a disproof. Actually, they don't really bother with "proof" - rhetoricians all, with emotional arguments. And some great poetry. Like this. The poets are not in Plato's Republic. They're in Hell. :) Dominus vobiscum, Nox
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2006-12-14 21:44:09
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Poet.........interesting read this one is and perhaps it brings me back six years ago when I had open heart not recall seeing much while on by pass machine for nine hours but I do recall a voice that scarred the hell out of me...........I was so afraid to let them remove my breathing tube all because of that dam voice............fore os a wpmderfi; wau tp descrobe [aom pf sirgeru/ O wpi;d ratjer ;au tjere tjem ,pve pf cpirse bit a jiggu [o;;pw a;;pwed ,e tp sot (took me most of an hour to get out of bed alone) presented oh so well as you always do the images just keep coming one after the other .......thanks for posting, Merry Christmas God Bless, Claire
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2006-12-14 15:10:30
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi T.....there is no way I should try to critique this poem....sorry I think I will anyway. Having gone under a surgeon's knife more times than I can count...I did count them one time....stopped at 30...some major some minor...all of them hurt like hell. Now here is the rub...when you are under anesthesia there are no thoughts...connected or disconnected. That is true for me but perhaps not for you or for MSS. I am always amazed when I see a movie or a t.v. program that details dreaming while in the deep vivid colors no less. It has been my experience that my brain is as dead and numb as my body....thank gawd! However, you last line is certainly right about the pain being like can be unbelievable. Having said all that I really did enjoy this piece as I do everything you write. I haven't seen MSS hanging around he still with us? Cheers.....M.
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