(The) End: A Hybrid

(Poem written in response to Mara Eastern’s Poetry 101 Rehab: End)

when does a day start?
how?

with first light–the cold absence of both heavenly bodies up above; the blink of an eye, a heart’s: take me back to the willows, the woods, the calm beneath my mind.
then the needle starts coursing right, an unbreakable habit, counting down;  birds chirp as they jump sideways on one leg, a ray of sunshine on the back of their heads, on the corner of our eyes, peaks small as timid toes sink onto the ground, with a cry, a whistle, a singsong of fright (of love or of light):

how does an hour,
two hours towed away
become a day?

when does it end?
how?

is it with the blemish of the clouds, shied away the possibility to find warmth, to feed the ground, seeds sprouting out with a touch of might? back to the slumber, down to the woodlands: timber falls to the soil, no sound, just wings fluttering, crumbling pages, gusts a whisper on leaves–silence…
as the needle proceeds, unforgiving, to the last quarter: ever-growing silver in the dark, horns to the north, cries the winter goodbye, thawing seconds drip on our skin

with a bell, a chime, one millimetre’s further turn of the earth?
are night and day so envious of each other that they can’t coexist?

when does a day end?
when do my words
my mislaid thoughts?

how?

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7 thoughts on “(The) End: A Hybrid

  1. Jay! I managed to find out how to leave a comment for you 🙂

    It’s a little nostalgic and reading it feels like longing for answers you won’t ever get. It’s an amazing athmosphere you created there.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I quite concur with the previous comment – the poem has a beautifully comforting atmosphere about it, and it was such a pleasant way to start my morning with a cup of coffee and this poem! Thank you for this. And keep it up please! 🙂

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    • Well now @Mara , that’s interesting how we came to think almoste contrary things about this poem, isn’t it?

      You know, the part that seemed the most important for my understanding of the poem are the lines “when does a day end?
      when do my words
      my mislaid thoughts?”. And they themselves made me recalling times when I asked myself after some time why on earth I decided the way I did. And the questions there are… I think I really might never be answered, no matter how much I would love to get those answers 🙂

      Although, on second thought, I would agree that the two longer stanzas really have soothing effects 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      • Oh yes, that’s the beauty of poetry in particular and literature in general, at least to me – I love it that no two people interpret the same piece in the same way! It’s fun to hop around, read everyone’s poems and comments and see others’ interpretations!

        Liked by 1 person

  3. I really enjoyed the structure of this piece, quite unusual but reads SO well – and love how all the previous prompts appear within the writing – if I had to pick a favourite segment it would have to be ‘how does an hour, two hours towed away become a day?’ because I couldn’t choose between the two prose poem parts. Very effective, thoroughly enjoyed reading and empathising with the explorations and questioning. Cheers 🙂

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    • hey, I’m glad you noticed that! I tried to include them as a little nod to myself and Mara (who I’m so grateful towards for I probably wouldn’t have written a single poem in the last few weeks if it weren’t for her Poetry Rehab…) Thank you! I’ll be sure to check out your work one of these day and catch up (:

      Liked by 1 person

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