Sunday, November 21, 2010


While sitting here alone at the computer during one of the years I've found it hardest to make any connections with people, let the record state that I do recognize the hypocrisy and irony in the title of this poem which I just wrote.  William Wordsworth called poetry "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings recollected in tranquility".  I was too impatient to wait for the second half of that.  Without further ado:

Do not discuss; only connect.

Chairs shiver on the lonely, leaf-strewn terrace outside.
Vulnerable, exposed to an ashen, lowering sky,
The flash of a neon sign and the leering Chuck-E-Cheese mouse
Across the parking lot.

Abandoned like a hooker to the night,
As street lights sputter to life,
In a naïve attempt to fight the darkness of a winter thought.

Vanity of vanities! says the teacher.  All is vanity.

Abandoned for the warmth of easy chairs and soy chai lattes within.
No vicissitudes here, just
Gratitudes and platitudes,
The pulchritudes and turpitudes of local art,
And a Hippie dude in the corner on his laptop.

The clank, hum, whir of coffee burr grinders,
Murmur of incessant voices,
Noises!  Noises!
Trying to quell the silence.

If the eyes are windows to the soul,
The curtains here are all drawn.
People nodding, shaking, smiling, frowning,
Reaching out, and not waving, but drowning.

And all hoping against hope that we don't die alone.


  1. Beautiful... and ... familiar... *hug*

  2. This is so wierd to comment as "Miss MacNaughton," but a school blog is connected to this. I was just looking at my blog and saw your comment about this blog. I like it bro, and this poem. You're a poet, and your feet show it :)!