Miscellaneous:

[ChrisA]

Theatre of Seeking I



In the bookstore
Where coffee is sold,
I am seeking something,
A secret doorway
To somewhere.

My reflection grins in the enamel
Of the blue coffee cup,
The insatiable smile of desire
Quick to hide itself
Behind books
Between pages

Under lusterless eyes.
Down the aisle I hear
The Fanfare of Giants
Rustling the vast page of night;
And I am awkwardly aware
Of my dream.

Then, a glimpse,
A shadow shrinking,
And refrain.


CRA 10/20/2006

[ChrisA]

Theatre of Seeking II


. . . as I was seeking something
In the bookstore
Where coffee is sold
Not so long ago
Not one half-hour ago

(The manager with the key-ring
could only pantomime
his inability to help me,
moreover, what was the point
of quarrelling?)

The Giants trundled forward
In tunnel-trance, drowsy-eyed
Dizzy with rotating step,
Plunging forward while
Looking back.

I remember them heading
Toward me with incredible
Height. I remember seeking
Something, a secret doorway
To somewhere—
Just to get out.

Then, a glimpse,
A shadow shrinking,
And refrain.


CRA 10/20/2006

[MsJacquiiC]

Hey CHRIS - I combined your threads - Makes for easier reading...
------------------

Now about your poems (parts 1 & 2) This was actually very good... I like how the piece reads as if each stanza is a frame in a film of some sort. It has that familiarity of how a dream actually IS.

The title works fantastically as well - LOL - Just looked at the title in my webbrowser and to see "Theatre of Seeking" was interestingly weird LOL

The Repetitive works very lovely:

The Following Text Is Quoted:

Then, a glimpse,
A shadow shrinking,
And refrain.

I read the 1st part and I was like "DAMN!" I was wondering what happened and that's fantastic that a writer can inspire such wonder... One thing though - I'm still wondering "what happens?" The poem seems to be unfinished...

At anyrate - enjoyed the read - Thanx for sharing!

Jacquii.

[ChrisA]

Ms. Jacquii,

I'm glad you said that . . . I had a lot of trouble finding just what was missing in this poem . . . and for several days I came back to it, trying to recapture that feeling of seeking . . . but there was nothing more I could write to describe how I felt in the bookstore that night. . . so I left the poem, walked away from it as we sometimes have to do. What image or phrase or stanza will make this poem (poems) complete, I do not know . . . Maybe it will come to me later, maybe never at all . . .

Chris