This Window (version 3)

[Ron Buck (halfshell)]

This Window (version 3)
.

I will never touch this day again.
My shaken window, rattled by neglect,
remains open to the light and all the drops
of life made ready to refresh my view, though
its frame can barely hold the glass.

I could step into the picture, permit my
pulled-from-pocket hands to grab
a capable tool, chip away the cracked
calcified glaze; restore what time’s
exposure has worn down to a whisper.

I could stand back and let it go;
my silent observation, inhaling nature’s
ebb and flow of fate’s disbursement,
would in itself claim satisfaction for
remaining unbiased and neutral.

In the end, choice comes round to life, where
place and presence enjoined by all that is not me,
beckons alignment; to see the day, a never-returning
gift, where I too must play a part by sustaining this
portal or passage for the next in line.

I will never touch this gathering again.
My life will shape a fractal world soon eclipsed.
I may not know the reason of why or how,
but to stand aside would do little justice to chance
presenting this moment, this window.






This Window (version 2)
.

I will never touch this day again.
My window, shaken and rattled by neglect,
remains open to the light and all the drops
of life made ready to refresh my view, though
its frame can barely hold the glass.

I could step into the picture.
My hands pulled from pockets could grab
a capable tool to chip away the cracked
and starving glaze; restore what time’s
exposure has worn down to a whisper.

I could stand back and let it go;
my silent observation, in keeping with
nature’s ebb and flow of fate’s disbursement,
would in itself claim satisfaction for
remaining unbiased and neutral.

In the end, choice comes round to life, where
place and presence enjoined by all that is not me,
beckons alignment; to see the day, a never returning
gift, where I too must play a part by sustaining this
portal or point of view for the next in line.

I will never touch this same view again.
My life will shape a fractal world soon eclipsed.
I may not know the reason of why or how,
but to stand aside would do little justice to fate
presenting me this moment, this window.





This Window

.

I will never touch this day again.
My window, parched by years of neglect,
remains open to the light and all the drops
of life made ready to refresh my view, though
its frame can barely hold the glass.

I could step into the picture.
My hands pulled from pockets could grab
a capable tool to chip away the cracked
and starving glaze; restore what time’s
exposure has worn down to a whisper.

I could stand back and let it go.
My silent observation in keeping with
nature’s ebb and flow of fate’s disbursement,
would in itself claim satisfaction for
remaining unbiased and neutral.

I guess my choice comes down to life.
My place and presence enjoined by all
that is not me. Whether or not, I see the day
as a never returning gift where I too must play
a part by sustaining this place for the next.

I will never touch this day again.
My life will shape what will never be again.
I may not know the reason of why or how,
but just to be a bystander would do little justice
to fate presenting me this moment, this window.

[LynnDoiron]

Forgive a fast read and this quick note, ron, but wanted to say I have read once and enjoyed very much for the flavor, the wistful wanting somehow and yet knowing what is, is. Do we every know the reason why? thanks for this write.

[Tina (Firefly)]

Ron, this brilliant poem had me reading it many times. The sombre tone you have laid here is just perfect for the window..absolute and metaphorical. I also like it because you have not attempted to be "lofty" or "academic" when it would have been easy to slip into for a less professional voice. In fact, the realtive simplicity of the language captures and completes both mood and intention..The only spot that bothers me at all is V5, L2. The repetition of "again", coupled with a little bit of awkward, slightly contrived wording, seems to depart from the easiness of the rest of the piece. Just my take on the one line. It's a terrific piece. Hope you are well. Tina

[mfwilkie]

Ron, I like what this is saying, too., but it's wrecking havoc with my ear.

Some thoughts:

I will never touch this day again. *Great opening line.
My* window, parched by years** of neglect,
remains open to the light and all the drops
of life made ready to refresh my view, though***
its frame can barely hold the glass.
* With each V opening with 'I', I'd think about eliminating as many 'my's' as possible, or maybe change the 'I's'.

**Is it necessary to say years. Describing it as parched from neglect implies dry over a long period of time.

*** Probably just my ear, but I' like the sound of 'though' in the the final line of this stanza.

I could step into the picture.
My hands pulled from pockets could grab
a capable tool to chip away the cracked
and starving glaze; restore what time’s
exposure has worn down to a whisper.*
* Here you might use a semi, and drop the 'I' from the next line
I could stand back and let it go.
My silent observation in keeping with
nature’s ebb and flow of fate’s disbursement,
would in itself claim satisfaction for
remaining unbiased and neutral.

I guess my choice comes down to life.(;/—)
My place and presence enjoined by all
that is not me. Whether or not, I see the day
as a never returning gift where I too must play
a part by sustaining this place for the next.* This might be said simpler.

I will never touch this day again.
My life will shape what will never be again.* This line isn't working for me as is, Ron.
I may not know the reason of why or how,
but just to be a bystander would do little justice
to fate presenting me this moment, this window.

Maggie

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Great opening line, Ron, a refrain that repeats with resonance throughout. I like some of Maggie's thoughts on the piece, too, especially here suggestion that the second line in the last stanza could be better stated.

[Ron Buck (halfshell)]

good looks by all helped move the poem along... mebbe, mebbe not.

thanx again.

tidings
ron

[syzygy73]

I prefer the re-write to the original, it has a smoother feel. There is something of Frost coming through here (or maybe that's my imagination?)- There is something immediatley likeable about this piece.

Rob

[ramadevi]

And excellent piece. I love the opening, and as David aptly pointed out, the resounding echo of it throughout the piece works well. For this reason, beginning each stanza with I works to tie the piece together.

The extended metaphor is brilliant and polished in its delivery.

I like the changes you've made after Maggies suggestions (and others) and i woudl clal this piece refined and finished. Especially this line:

My life will shape a fractal world soon eclipsed.

Kudos!

[mfwilkie]

Much smoother, and a stronger piece, Ron. I'd still like to see the the 'my's' reduced, and maybe the 2nd 'I' moved to the end of the first stanza for emphasis, energy and tone. Strict adherance to your idea of form here seems to be an inhibitor, at least to my ear, of your V.

I don't think you're done with it, but you're pretty darn close.

More messin'.

Maggie

I will never touch this day again.
My window, shaken and rattled by neglect,
remains open to the light and all the drops
of life made ready to refresh my view, though
its frame can barely hold the glass. I could

step into the picture:
My hands pulled from pockets released from thinkingcould grab
a capable tool to chip away the cracked
and starving glaze; restore what time’s
exposure has worn down to a whisper.

Or I could stand back, and just let it go
my in a silent observation, in keeping with
nature’s ebb and flow of fate’s disbursement,
would in itself claim satisfaction for
remaining unbiased and neutral.

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Once again, I'll echo Maggie's thoughts and agree with her suggested changes...but, that being said, I'm not sure that there's a huge difference in overall quality with or without them.

[MichaelFirewalker]

I have read this four times, over two days, and feel there is an unspoken question in the poem----to me, it seems to ask the universe, "why time?"----so, I have thought about that----"I will never touch this day again" is repeated in different ways thoughout, as if to never live the day again is felt as loss and sorrow by the poet----and also as the simple determination to accept the reality of time passing...

as an older person, I understand that sorrow----there comes a grieving, a letting go of all that was, and then, an acceptance, and a looking forward into what will be----but how can an old person do that?----there is little or no time left to him----to what does he look forward?

that is the real, albeit hidden, question in this poem----it is a question I have pondered, and upon which I have meditated for a very long time----what has been born of all of that is a new awareness regarding the nature of time itself----I have begun to realize, in my mind and heart and bones, that time is simply an artificial construct----it is a gem-faceted jewel set smack-dab into the middle of eternity, where there is no time, where all is now, everlasting now----and time is simply a playground for Godde's children, in which we learn to live and love and give and hurt and hope and finally, to die, returning to the everlasting now of perfect joy and peace...

michael

[mfwilkie]

The quality's there, D, that's not the nit for me; it's the bumps in sound that create a stiffness
I hear after several readings with ear as well as eye.

Maggie

[Ron Buck (halfshell)]

a slight of hand and words and hopefully a tightening up.

many many thanx for the nudgings

tidings
ron

[mfwilkie]

The slight of hand works for me, Ron.

[Sherry Thrasher]

I was thinking just the other day that I have missed you and your poetry on the site and then I see you have joined us once again.

I have read along with you through the revisions of this poem and I must say that I too have been pondering time and the effects of it. I reflect on what once was and that which is no more. I look into the future and know that those I hold close now will also fade in time.

I would like to add that I miss the repetition of I will never touch this day again in the last stanza. When I first read this I thought the repetition of it reminded me of a villanelle written by Dylan Thomas and at that time I was also reading a sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay where she was also reflecting through a window. I 'm babbling and this is probably of absolutely no use. I simply want to say that this poem connects with me.

Sherry


What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII)
by Edna St. Vincent Millay


What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Good revision, Ron.

[Ron Wallace (Scotshawk)]

I think version 3 is a home run, but I must admit to feeling as Sherry does about the repetition in the final verse. I may just be too caught up in the line, but I like it well enough, I'd have repeated it in that opening line of the final stanza. Ron