Please note that the poems and essays on this site are copyright and may not be reproduced without the author's permission.

Friday, 27 December 2013



Two Windows (New York, New York): photo by Jim Rohan (LowerDarnley), 8 March 2013

So is it the thin
sliver of light, slicing
through the curtain
from the window
of the person confined
in the equally dark house
next door
............that puts
the dread
of the lid
being closed
over one
into the mind
without a word
being said
across the slender divide

narrowing alley
crack of brightness between
solid masses
of trees, converging
overhead must be
even darker down there
in the shadows someone
who wanted to speak

The Summer Sun #2 (Lower Darnley, Prince Edward Island, Canada): photo by Jim Rohan (LowerDarnley), 18 October 2013

eating rats: photo by robert holmgren (menlo), 16 October 2013


Nin Andrews said...

As always, a powerful poem, and I love the mix of poem/photos. That's such a dark and apt description of feared darkness: "the dread of the lid/being closed over one" . . .

TC said...

Now that you mention it, Nin -- or more accurately I suppose I ought to say, now that you mention my mentioning it -- I guess that is not exactly the sort of image that generates a great deal of festive heat under the old mistletoe. (The cobwebs, however, seem to be fine with it.) But Christmas does bring out the Grinch in the agéd and infirm, I suppose. Even Bob Cratchit may have ended up a morbid old social problem, scribbling gloomy, illegible-in-the-morning notes to himself, with a failing ballpoint, on the backs of spent bus transfers.

(Seasonal defective disorder?)

ACravan said...

When I opened this, at first I thought it read "Silver," which matched my perception of the light. Then I re-read the title, read the poem and took in the other images. Robert Holmgren's Sicily photo is extraordinary, but the power, order and insinuating implications of the entire piece is really fine, seasonal defective disorder (which you should really trademark) and all. Curtis

vazambam (Vassilis Zambaras) said...

No humbug here,
I fear.

Hazen said...

There’s even a good laugh to be found in here sometimes: “Seasonal defective disorder.” Good one, bub. The poem puts me in mind of the indefinite self, and other permutations on chance. Down the hatch! Great post.

Lally said...

for a sliver it's still brilliant Tom, once again

Poet Red Shuttleworth said...

Grim... the painful... the poignant. The years for moving on somehow back in a dark age. Us in a separate dark age.

Dalriada said...
This comment has been removed by the author.


I too first read "Silver," then the "thin/ sliver of light" brought me back to a recalibration of that first word, "silver" and "sliver" "across the slender divide" which separates the position of one letter from that of the other, one person from another, from here to there.

Wooden Boy said...

in the shadows someone
who wanted to speak

This is a season for ghosts: other selves in closed off light.

Scrolling down on that first image, it took a while for the eyes to adjust.

TC said...

Yes, it's funny -- hard not to think (type) the word "silver" for "sliver"... so easy to make that slip, in fact, that lately the slightly bruised neurotransmitters have come to always expect the slivers to have a silver lining. But that may not have been in the playbook,

A season for ghosts indeed.

So many bloodstained parkinglots to cross, enroute to the underworld.