Rolling Sevens
Yeah, another poem. Stewart, you can click out now if you wish. And yeah, it's wierdly indented, and frankly I don't care much for cleverly formatted poems, but you see, if I can't read it to you in person, I have to use such breaks to approximate verbal cues like the un-notable micro comma, and the half breath. Hell, read it any way you want.
ROLLING SEVENS
How long can you keep rolling sevens?
How long,
until you meet
that snake's beady eyes?
Your search for a small piece of Heaven's
not consistantly wise.
It seems that your victories are hollow;
Your winnings recover
things you don't need.
It's becoming a life that you follow,
not one that you lead.
You’ve always been a gambler;
your wagers on credit,
your betting's an art;
Risking
none of your principals,
but all of your heart.
Time now to leave the Casino,
taking your winnings,
still using your wits;
Gathering
your final jackpot
and calling it quits.
A piece of my heart, it goes with you;
And all of the rest of me
stays here to play.
I'm due to start rolling some sevens,
Now that you're making a clean getaway.
posted by Jon @ 5:54 PM
4 comments
4 Comments:
Love the gambling metaphor and the breaks. It's really quite lovely.
See, Jon, I just keep coming back and reading these last two blogs, but am never sure what to say. Both are very touching.
Michelle-I'm so glad you liked it.
Kate-I'm wondering if you or, anyone else, can't find the words, maybe I wasn't clear. But if you found them touching, then in what way? Small Engine Repair started out as a simple memory, but the further I got, the more it turned into allegory. I've been reading a lot of C. S. Lewis lately.
Touching in what way, you ask...
I think I saw a lot of my brothers (and even myself to some degree) in the small engine story - literally and figuratively.
I also think knowing that you're dealing with cancer, as are some other friends, as well as having a good friend battling MS and my own health issues, it seemed more like a struggle not against just a machine, but against the breakdown of our own bodies. That may not have been what you meant, but that's how I felt it.
Not only that, I also deeply felt the the battle with frustration of "not knowing." I never handle frustration well. :)
As for the poem, I could see multiple interpretations - perhaps not the ones you meant - but the meaning(s) I found in it were quite personal.
This raises a question I've asked myself many times regarding my painting and writing. If people see meaning in something I didn't intend, or not see the meaning I did intend, does that mean I didn't do a good job?
Or did I still do my job, because each of us will always bring our history to the experience and take away something different? I'm disappointed when people don't "get it" and do feel I've not done a good enough job explaining, but I'm not sure anymore.
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