Grey lifts to chatter.I tiptoe, hover, listening in,bewildered by verbiage,maze of fanciful descriptorsentirely out of context,challenged to even begin imaginingcontext for your best ruffian argot.Where are you inside your pillow fort?I wish I could go there.But you recognizedespite my languid protestthat adult concerns counterbalanceyour bright menagerie of wordswith which to play I am no longer invited.Instead, it is my privilege to witnessfrom a short distance--
#14 of 30 in April! Sharing on The Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden. Sigh!
This is such an intense poem... loved the vivid imagery and rich tone :D
ReplyDeleteI tiptoe, hover, listening in,
bewildered by verbiage,
maze of fanciful descriptors
entirely out of context,
challenged to even begin imagining
context for your best ruffian argot.
These lines are beautiful...!!
xoxo
beautiful expressions and details like pillow fort is amazing!!
ReplyDeleteInstead, it is my privilege to witness from a short distance--
ReplyDeleteYes, that day comes but you'll get another turn when you are a grandma. Grandmas don't count as adult thank goodness.
LOL, I love what Debi says. Grandmas for SURE are not grown up! But this was an ouch! moment. I love "it is my privilege to witness from a short distance."
Delete"...adult concerns counterbalance
ReplyDeleteyour bright menagerie of words"
This speaker sure knows how to insult beautifully. Ouch.
By the way, I spent an entire summer (11th grade, I think) using the word "verbiage" as often as I could. It drove everyone crazy. And I couldn't stop, lol!
Made me smile and want to go back into the pillow fort too! Love the lead in line.
ReplyDeleteMade me smile and want to go back into the pillow fort too! Love the lead in line.
ReplyDeleteAh... there are those occasions.. the safe distance made me smile.. somehow moving from sinister to sweet in my mind.
ReplyDeleteI love the shifting perspectives the inside/outside the fort feeling...this is brilliant, Marian!!
ReplyDeleteThe kind of fond reflection reserved for those we love.
ReplyDeletewith which to play I am no longer invited.
ReplyDeleteInstead, it is my privilege to witness
from a short distance--
What life can be once one is no more an adult but beyond adult. Gives a feeling of not being acceptable to the group anymore! Wonderful lines Marian!
Hank
I too am smiling. :) Imaginary friends can displace a parent or other for those little folks.
ReplyDeleteIt doesn't last so awfully long, they soon will have real friends galore to take your place,
and that of those imaginary guys.
...
I want to be inside the fort, but know that dance. I love how you went in and out and took us with you~
ReplyDeleteWonderful!
Oh dear--how it goes! Well described for sure! Thanks. k.
ReplyDeleteAh yes, sad when we lose the passport to that secret land (or have it revoked).
ReplyDeleteI miss the boys playing with abandon ~
ReplyDeleteI wonder if this was what my mother was thinking when she lifted the garbage can lid to see who was sitting in there swearing up a tin echo of a jeremiad. Do we post our writings from that vantage we had as children to romp with words?
ReplyDeleteChildren will create their own worlds, and we watch them, remembering our own worlds.
ReplyDeleteI am not a parent, but this is the kind of poem that gives me a sense of what it must be like.
ReplyDelete