What was the time in Ottawa
When that boy ran full pelt
Towards a delapidated pier upon
An icy lake to make his shape
Where conifers colluded
And memory occluded
This day, it once occurred.
Plenty (or was it a few) anglers
In lumberjack furs
Dangling their lines
In holes through snow
As they blow in their hands
And distances blur
Between water and skies
For hope of a bite
Oblivious to that parabolic
Arc of his last jump, his leap,
Neap tide, a void of pride,
The police had never been so far
From the scene of his crime,
But you can’t pursue spirit
With a Horseman in Time.
Something, always, is lost
Between the old and the new,
Between a thought in sheets
And all written words, Love.
One day I’ll remember this,
Sipping my oxtail soup,
Inconvenience, true,
Tired, yes, and mute.
This is my favourite poem of the night. What an amazing wee story and such a brilliant ending
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a mysterious and haunting poem with its wonderfully realistic line, ‘sipping my oxtail soup’ 🙂
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Wow, Nick! I’ve spent a lot of time with this one, just letting it all soak in. I feel like I need to look at my previous comments about your poetry so I am not repeating myself, but again I find myself equally drawn in and compelled by both the layers of meaning in your poetic storytelling and in the craft itself. The word choices and the sound devices employed, the roundabout way you so clearly deliver powerful messages…
I love the way you presented this in a way that allowed us to be in two places at once, to witness yet be helpless, in a way in which no one could hear that final harsh, distant splash, showing how life continued on with people oblivious to the event that makes it seem nonexistent, but what a true tragedy it was, one life representing so many, so much…
“But you can’t pursue spirit/With a Horseman in Time” is such powerful imagery I’ll never forget.
Trying to put words together to describe the effect your words have on me leaves me frozen with a writer’s block I am not used to. ❤
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Thank you so much Laura. 🙏🏻👊🏻 Though I do think your commentary equals any depth in the poem! ☺️
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You leave us with so much to explore! An abyss of analyses lies within me. I only gave you the synopsis. 😉
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