Thursday, March 2, 2017

Lost garden



his heart's a thistle, sparse skin and dry.   today, his eyes are moody blue when he is stuck in the room all day.  the suffocation is real, like someone is stepping on his fragile chest, when all he wants to do is be a balloon, untied touching the sky.  his tortured thoughts haunt him, a scar unseamed, a whispered scream.

during school's lunchbreak, he escapes with a walk around the block.  there is a slight drizzle overhead, hint of cloudy night.  the air is cool and damp, scent of trees soothing his nerves.   in a corner, he sits down to watch the pigeons haggling over breadcrumbs. some grey pigeons stand overhead the wires and roof tops like sentinels looking down at the streets. an idea brews on his head, an image stretching into infinity of patterns.   he takes his pen and draws what his mind is echoing, in fast paced strokes.   for a few minutes, he is a river, gliding with fish and tadpoles, absorbed with his artwork.   now he is a tiny insect, crawling diligently beneath layers of soil, grains and seeds.     his fingers inked with markings, he smiles.   his chest is all mushy now, filled with trills, caws and sunny leaves of a lost garden.



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Prose Poem by host, Frank Hubeny ~  Try your hand in writing one when the pub opens at 3pm EST ~  Thanks for the visit ~

28 comments:

  1. I love the character you are drawing... I recognize myself in that awkward boy.. and there were days I could have lost myself like that... The ties between the thistles in the first part and the lush garden at the end is a lovely transformation..

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  2. Fascinated with your lack of capitalization--creating a prose of a different ilk, still poetic, shivering with angst, mirroring the emotions of your protagonist; love it. I have never been that awkward boy, but perhaps I daydreamed my way out of those stifling rooms.

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  3. Oh, this is wonderful, Grace! Such detailed, delicate description of a child who craves freedom to breathe and finds it in a garden. It reminds me of Colin, the sick boy in 'The Secret Garden' by Frances Hodgson Burnett.
    My favourite lines:
    'his heart's a thistle, sparse skin and dry'; 'all he wants to do is be a balloon, untied touching the sky'; and 'some grey pigeons stand overhead the wires and roof tops like sentinels looking down at the streets. an idea brews on his head, an image stretching into infinity of patterns'.

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  4. How wonderfully poignant. Those of us who are creative...including you here a well...feel so much in, during, after the creating. Things to feel the heart and soul.

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  5. I like the tension built up of the schoolchild feeling suffocated by being unable to go outside "like someone is stepping on his fragile chest" in the first part that gets resolved when he can go outside and draw his garden with the result that "his chest is all mushy now".

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  6. Love your inventiveness and creativity. Thanks.

    Greetings from London.

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  7. Beautiful Grace, pure poetry.
    Kind regards
    Anna :o]

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  8. I love the final thought, that the only way to ever see that sunshine on those leaves of the lost garden is to break away and write.

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  9. Ah, the transformation from "thistle, sparse and dry" to the lushness at the end. A satisfying read!

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  10. There's a beautiful sense of liberation in this, breaking away from the dull drizzle, the impoverished city streets, and making a garden.

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  11. This so reminded me of the children's book, The Secret Grarden. Nothing like getting back to nature when things are just right.

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  12. A penetrating portrait - compelling drawn. I really related to this piece. Awesome writing!

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  13. A well written reminder: Were one can return to something lost.

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  14. A melancholy but touching piece of a young artist, very well written.

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  15. This is absolutely gorgeous writing. I especially love your closing lines.

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  16. Aw. Beautifully written. I wish I'm as creative with my writing.

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  17. Wondrous descriptive details in this, Grace. Poetic as you bring the reader right into the middle of the narrative.

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  18. Oops.. I think I signed out instead of commenting! Lovely and original work. You have captured perfectly all of those tortured school children who turn into our poets and artists Wonderful words.

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  19. Getting out of that grind and taking it in can sure be a win

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  20. That's heavenly, Grace! A beautiful demonstration of prose poetry. I'm sure no-one, after reading that, could deny it exists!

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  21. his chest is all mushy now,
    filled with trills, caws and
    sunny leaves of a lost garden

    One can be saddled with confusion in the course creative endeavors. This is quite a common dilemma!

    Hank

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  22. rather lost for words in praise of your prose poetry - the sketches of a day in the life of this suffocating boy are so well drawn with thought-full gaps between the sentences

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  23. I met someone who lived on lost tree lane and I thought, how can a tree go missing? Lost garden. Love it. Nice metamorphoses.

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  24. wonderful feel of prose and poetry -- the poetics and the tale are blended. I feel suffocated like the boy you have so well described that feeling.

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  25. This is so beautiful, Grace. I felt his tension ease as he he stepped outside and absorbed his surroundings, as he quieted and drew. Your words are so elegantly descriptive. My absolute favorite part is:
    'an idea brews in his head, an image stretching to infinity of patterns'. That's the magic of it.

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  26. You've created such a character here ... an uncomfortable young introspective boy who feels out of place in the school yard, with other active louder children. And his pen gives him that sense of freedom. Not his out-loud words but what his pen expresses. I too am struck by the feel of this with the "feel" of the Secret Garden. A special place where one can be oneself. This is truly a wondrous read for me.

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  27. This is a sumptuous read. I hope you do more of these!

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