Errands

Errands

A Poem by roarke
"

Prose, poetry, a short story... I dunno. Decide for yourself.

"

I luckily discovered that it's pleasingly difficult to hear voices in your head if you shove it out the car window while traveling at three-digit speeds.The hurricane-like force of air rushing loudly across your ears and you pretty much can't hear anything. I'm not saying this tactic is infallible, or a perfect solution, but it’s a semi-viable alternative than just surrendering to the demented clamor of little voices all suggesting varying degrees of ego-centrism and individual delusions of reality. It even helps to close your eyes tight until you see….


Lines and angles, scaled geometric architecture. Squeeze your eyelids more until the straight lines loosen to illegible physician scrawl and the angles close in, forming fat, asymmetric cardboard pyramids.  


A candy apple red lacquer sunset highlights an extinction of clouds. A palm tree stands alone, printed on dirty yellow wallpaper, decoration behind a small breakfast nook. A gingerbread cat claws his way across the table, scratch, scratch, scratch. A frowzy stay-at-home mom leans against the kitchen sink revealing grocery store price-stamp-ink tattoos on her freckled, naked arms.  


The voices resist being muted but ungraciously begin to fade. I can now see how bright the day is, bright and raining. A woman in an open top convertible hangs onto her hat. Her auto speeds into the sunny morning rain. Gushing droplets crash on the windshield and spatter a dirty mist onto her smooth cheeks. Colossal sugar cubes pause suspended along the roadside like post war billboard ads. The sunny rain mercilessly eats away at the cubes, flushing a sticky glaze down the highway. The convertible woman's lips were glazed with sugary gloss- candy apple red deception.  


My REM shifting eyeballs seek something in an over exposed, reverse negative film strip documenting large blimps multiplying and compressing in a crowded flight hangar until the windows and doors crack open. The promiscuous dirigibles carry a cargo of paper back books, their spring coiled pages covered with images of fertility statues. My eyes develop a dull pain as darkness from the landward side swallows a lighthouse fixed on the swell of a charcoal briquette. Stretching before it's cast beacon, the ocean churns crests of silver. White and yellow grains of beach sand, naught but sleeping souls lay beneath. The distracting voices slowly dissolve into distant white noise. 


More lines shoot in and trace infinite tangents, contour drawings of existence itself. Life within existence. The magic genie in the bottle turned out to be just a desperate castaway's note thrown into a disinterested ocean.  Anatomical breath, a raw quivering of organ tissue and energy, cosmic energy, the invisible unknown....   


And quiet. The voices have stopped. Time once again to observe posted speed limits. I roll up the car window and turn my newly cleared thoughts to the procurement of pencil-etched items on my grocery list.   



© 2016 roarke



Author's Note

roarke
I seem to have over slept. Seems the alarm clock doesn't work with bullet holes in it....
i've been doing chores, playing trumpet and reading Nabokov.... yeah, that last thing, reading Nabokov... makes me reconsider what I do here as "writing"... that guy is incredible. In the mean time, I'm trying to warm up my writing chops.

Critiques and comments welcome

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Featured Review

Prose, poetry or a short story?
No I think it is ZEN .... modern age Zen. It has many implications beyond you and the voices. I think those in the East would be most impressed. I will certainly start my day on a contemplative note! Even go shopping! Thank you, Roarke

Posted 7 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

Prose, poetry or a short story?
No I think it is ZEN .... modern age Zen. It has many implications beyond you and the voices. I think those in the East would be most impressed. I will certainly start my day on a contemplative note! Even go shopping! Thank you, Roarke

Posted 7 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Nabokov, yes, I see it.
Now I was always going to like this if I can just get this damned for all time machine to type properly. Lyrical and yet earthy. Descriptive and quietly spoken. We the readers are having a conversation with this guy. We are listening carefully. And I can still see Nabokov.

Posted 1 Year Ago


' eyes develop a dull pain as darkness from the landward side swallows a lighthouse fixed on the swell of a charcoal briquette. Stretching before it's cast beacon, the ocean churns crests of silver. White and yellow grains of beach sand, naught but sleeping souls lay beneath. ' Pure magic.. another place and time seemingly built with real language colourful but controlled.

Whilst your sentences are generally quite long here.. they flow with calmly held breath - no snatches of blue above top lip, merely a quickly shut eyelid to see the moment develop. nd, maybe that's how you've gently caught the 'butterflies'... seen their beauty and worth... and kept the, close.

Seems your recent influences have taken you on an adventure.. will re.visit to see how far you've travelled. Welcome back.

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

ah the art within the mind...keeps us from getting bored...am I right...did you get everything on the list or just end up with a bag of oranges ...always a pleasure to read your words :)

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

As a wholly pointless aside, but one I'm going to chuck in here anyway, the story goes that Nabokov picked up much of the style he used in dialogue for Lolita by riding buses around Ithaca, NY (where he was teaching at the time) and trying to get the patter of the teenage girls on the buses down pat. I wrote a poem about that once, but it's never seen the light of day for the perfectly sound reason that it's godawful. I mention this because of the Nabokov has seeped into your writing, which is not a bad thing. There is some wonderful phrasing here as well as some very inventive wordplay (I love "an extinction of clouds") There is a wonderful blurring and shifting to and fro between this earthly plane and the somewhat surreal; I found your handling of the back and forth very skillful indeed. It's nice to see you posting.

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

roarke

1 Year Ago

Thanks W.K. although I've only read Nabokov's "Laughing in the Dark" and "The Defense" it's hard to .. read more
You've been living in neverland and realized you have to shop. How long have you been off the grid? Did I ever tell you i always imagine you as a ken kesey of sorts. This is where its at dude. Life really is an artform

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

roarke

1 Year Ago

A guy's gotta eat, right? Yep, Ken Kesey, Rob Roy, all those guys. There's always an alternative, ch.. read more

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Added on June 18, 2016
Last Updated on June 18, 2016
Tags: Prose, short story, poetry, errands, stream of consciousness, imagery, roarke, william calkins

Author

roarke
roarke

About
Bio I've been a professional teacher, artist and musician for over thirty years and I currently pursue an off-the-grid homesteading lifestyle. I'm continuing life's journey, accepting and creating n.. more..

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