Oblivion

Found on wiki-commons

I pass the portal into the land of the forgotten;
loneliness, a morning mist, obscures the day.

It rises to the limbs of trees hung with shreds
of faded lingerie and laddered stockings;

baby clothes and evening gowns rustle
on the ground scraping shoes with broken heels.
.
A vague tinkling music box melody with missing notes
wafts in, loops an oscillating plinking on the breeze.

The lonely mist watercolors shadowed forms
where sadness softens contours of the left-behind.

I stumble through the deepening fog seeking reasons;
cloaked shapes move past at the periphery of memory.

I hear myself calling, moaning in misery, the mystery’s
a shroud that’s wrapped me alive, wanting, needing.

Beyond these clouds lies my fate in some inky pond
and I advance seeking someone to take my hand.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 8/7/2012 * All Rights Reserved

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50 thoughts on “Oblivion

  1. I hear myself calling, moaning in misery, the mystery’s
    a shroud that’s wrapped me alive, wanting, needing…so much emotion packed into those two lines….hey i am stumbling through that mist as well gay….it is always good to find that hand and know you are not alone….

    love the header pic too…smiles…

  2. I’m listening to Astor Piazzolla’s “Oblivion” in the background & it sounds a lot like this… How well you describe that feeling here, Gay, and I know intimately that need to find a hand to hold in the dim light. Indeed, there have been times when I’ve had to settle for holding my own hand (& sometimes now I think I could do worse 😉

  3. Piazzolla – sublime! I agree sometime one has to reach deep inside for that particular strength to keep us going. Thank you Ruth for your reading and comments! I do find a light reading your work.

  4. so many great lines gay and such deep emotions…the one that grabbed me most was…A vague tinkling music box melody with missing notes… there’s just so much loneliness in it that it is hard to bear.. i love the closure as well…the inky pond and sometimes all we need is a touch by someone who helps us write on on that lines of life

  5. Your images are so vivid and telling–not just static pieces, but pictures that draw us into something other than what we’re used to and comfortable with…the way the protagonist merges with this otherness is so interesting: knowing the fates are out there, but hoping for a saving grace. This is a favorite. Nice work.

  6. The couplets seem to drop an image by image trail for us to follow through the forest, yet we arrive in the middle and see nothing but the fog that conceals whatever messenger is waiting. A strong sense of emotion in this, Gay, as well as an almost pictoral mood. Beautifully composed.

  7. “sadness softens contours of the left-behind” so “I” has her safety, like we soften the edges for a newly-walking baby — and for me this lessens the pain in the experience of disorientation from loss or sickness or near-drowning in someone else. So many hands are reaching from and near the pond, inky from the labor of poets, that one will find you.

    Your image writing is exquisite.

  8. Wow! That’s a quite a journey, Gay.. I suppose the future, by definition, is pretty mush an obscure, fogged up trip… waiting for us to tread into it, all nervous and sweaty, while it smiles at us, sometimes sweetly, sometimes with a mean glint.

    Well, cheers to us for braving that future, and kudos to you on describing that feeling so beautifully !

  9. I read it wanting to know in the end did someone take there hand, or did they brave the dark fog alone. Well done, Gay

  10. Lovely share Gay and I can relate to the need to have someone hold my hand ~ These lines caught my attention :

    A vague tinkling music box melody with missing notes
    wafts in, loops an oscillating plinking on the breeze.

  11. Gay, I think we all stumble sometimes. One thing about being a poet, you write about it! And I do understand wishing someone to take one’s hand. A universal craving, i believe. We do not wish to be alone. Your poetry is beautiful and effective….and honest.

  12. I stumble through the deepening fog seeking reason;
    cloaked shapes move past at the periphery of memory.

    How truly we often are led astray for some minor reasons. We very well know later that it could have been easily resolved! Nice write Gay!

    Hank

  13. I so feel that greyness of oblivion you describe so very well…A lonely and lovely write….but the hand is there…Great write!

  14. This seems to come from the half empty glass, and describes the feelings of loneliness and near-despair quite vividly. I know too well the feelings you speak of, but I refuse to look back at them. Awesome writing, Gay.

  15. The couplets are like a bell knelling. I took this in a more literal way – a mystical emotional landscape – but seemed to me like after war (in the South) or some other act of violence–the shock. Well done. k.

  16. Some enchanting imagery here, the myriad objects reflecting emotional discord shrouded in fog. Yes, we often need a guide to help us through, to help us get out.

  17. Evocative imagery you use in this hauntingly beautiful poem….the melancholy is obvious & we all need an outstretched hand from time to time …a moving write

  18. The stanza: “baby clothes and evening gowns rustle/on the ground scraping shoes with broken heels.” almost makes my teeth hurt with curiosity. For me, the inky pond is as compelling as the hand. Your sense of the mystical becomes tangible with evocative couplets. Quite a stunning piece of work.

  19. Very vivid. I was looking at your picture at the top and had that image in my head as I read.
    Excellent thoughts, there is always a hand willing to reach for us… we just have to reach back.

  20. hi gay – thank you for pointing me in the right direction 😀 . . . my web navigation skills are horrible . . . i need an E compass 😀

    this is a V. striking piece gay .
    the entrance images are perfect
    in relation to the genral mood
    the ambient textures are as smooth as pea fog.

    tinkling and plinking – wonderful words among a superb section . . .
    selection and scape – haunting memories and desolate space
    but filled with art . . . the redeemer

    glad i made it . . . eventually – now wheres that map

    darn fog! 😀

  21. there is such melancholy here, the landscape so desolate. i think it was the concreteness of all those forlornly hanging clothes that really drew me in.

  22. i don’t think i’ve ever read anything you’ve written that isn’t stunning, Gay, but this is one of my favorites! the overall imagery and hauntingly beautiful details create an atmosphere of such desperate loneliness that your last line then defies! wonderful!

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