shadows and years
a man sits alone at an oval oak table
a man sits alone
at an oval oak table
with a birthday cake,
seven candles
striped red and white
(little candy cane babies)
that's what she called them
in her nightingale whisper
the whisper that now sends echoes
crashing off the walls
of the house
and his skull
leaving dents and cracks
that will not see repair.
*****
on the birthday cake,
the candle wicks burn bright orange,
too bright and hot to hold the glow,
they blacken and bow down
offering whispered confessions
to the spiral fires - the jagged pyres
that dance in a somehow breeze
flowing through the house
even though all the doors
and windows have been closed
since the night she left.
yet the flame pearls
still shimmy and twist
like that night
never happened.
*****
the pearls push melted tears
down the sheer wax faces
swelling their foundations
until their fiery crowns drown
in the consequences of their warmth
hissing, sputtering
at the man who sits alone
at an oval oak table
with a birthday cake
seven candles
striped red and white
(little candy cane babies)
nightingale whisper echoes
(little candy cane babies)
And now melted tears are pushed down
his sheer wax face
swelling the foundation
where his own fiery crown
refuses to drown,
but instead lingers on,
draping shadows and years
onto the sloping shoulders of
the man as he sits alone
still
at an oval oak table
with a birthday cake
eight candles now
striped red and white
(little candy cane babies)
(little candy cane babies)
little
candy cane
babies
About the Creator
John R. Godwin
Sifting daily through the clutter of my mind trying to create something beautiful.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insight
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
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More stories from John R. Godwin and writers in Poets and other communities.
If You Love Me, You'll Do It
I met Jason when I was five years old. I could say that I loved him from the moment I saw him. He was so handsome to me and I felt in awe by his presence. When they introduced him as the new kid in school, I wanted to be his friend right away. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember his smile and how he didn't seem shy. He appeared confident and ready to learn. I waved at him and said "hello," before anyone else could even say a word. He sat next to me, and I asked him if he wanted to be friends. He looked so happy as he said, "Yes!"
By Sidney Smith (Sid Smith)5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (17)
Congratulations! Vividly emotive!💖
Congratulations, John. A haunting poem with a strong central image/motif 🕯
Congratulations on your win! 🎉
Wooohooooo congratulations on your win! 🎉💖🎊🎉💖🎊
YES!
Congratulations!!!!
Well-wrought and accolades well-deserved! Time and memory can melt us away just so sometimes.
Wow, that’s some powerful imagery of loneliness, John!
What a powerful, pivotal piece of poetry you've woven. The pain and sadness are palpable, radiating across the screen in vivid emotions for your reader. Well done. A most deserving Top Story.
The slow spiraling rhythm mirrors the man’s reflection and sorrow perfectly. Every line drips both time and feeling.
All good? You’re quiet today. I think I may have entered a Hatfields and McCoys feud.
Deeply and vividly haunting, and a powerful piece about how the past, despite its being gone, never dies.
John Godwin this was a top story well chosen. It is sensory-rich with haunting echoes of contrast with joyous times. Part of its power is in what lies unsaid. Excellent writing!
Stunning work John! Congrats on your Top Story!
This is sad, you're imagery is so vivid. Beautiful work.
I must say, this is wonderful. I feel it's incredibly sad and full of this man's losses. I'm on my fourth reading and I'm not sure I'm right, but the candy cane babies strike me as lost children, the nightingale voice perhaps the voice of his deceased wife? What's throwing me off the children idea, however, is the eighth candle at the end, rather than the previous seven. It seems that, because the windows and doors closed long ago, an additional candle would not make much sense, though it could also be that my initial interpretation of this piece is incorrect. Perhaps the candles are for HIM, and it's him, another decade (?) older? I'm reticent to accept that one. I'm pretty set on the children idea. Maybe they're grown children dying, rather than actual babies. It's an incredibly powerful metaphor, and I really love how the wax becomes the middle image of the poem, solidifying something that seems so liquid when you feel it. The tears, especially. This section is so powerful: "melted tears pushed down his sheer wax face swelling the foundation where his own fiery crown refuses to drown, but instead lingers on," This bit has an opportunity for clarity, I think, though I also just like it a lot: "yet the flame pearls still shimmy and twist like the thing never happened." What "thing"? Building on what Harper said, that area could be where some more details could come in. Then again, I feel pretty set on my interpretation and to me, it's all there if the reader wants to find it. :D Well done, sir. I truly hope this wins!
I like how you shift to eight candles in the last refrain. The imagery is fantastic, and the linguistics resonate in a lot of places, but there’s an occasional sound that doesn’t make sense with the rest of the linguistic grammar/meaning for me, and the detailing needs to be finer and more resonant somewhere in the poem for it to have the punch you’re looking for. Really good draft, the wax image is good. I would let it rest and come back to it when ideas for details come to you.