There was a choice of three prompts by Emerging Writer who is driving the Poetry Bus this week. I chose L'esprit d'escalier which means The wit of the staircase and refers to that frustrating experience in which the perfect witty response occurs too late to be of any use. But do visit and check it out for yourself. So I will just call this:-
More eagle in his eyrie
than bishop in his pulpit, given that
the steely glare from steel rimmed eyes had found
this juicy morsel of an altar boy
about to be confirmed - and had locked-on.
Any moment now he'd swoop, and I
would be consumed. Or carried off
to feed the kids. Conspicuous
in bright red cassock and white surplice (no
one else in that great nave was wearing red -
my uniform had been the vicar's doing!)
you might have called it destined (or pre-destined?)
that a stomach ache the size of hell would strike.
I'd wriggled in its clutches. Now,
impaled upon that stony stare, I squirmed
the more. The beak-like nose had been aligned,
was pointing straight at me. How did he know?
His eyes on me - and only me - each time
he whispered, roared or otherwise re-
iterated his main text (how sinners
feel discomfort in the presence of the Lord),
so multitudes of demons gathered there.
He shook hands with us at the great west door
and whispered as we passed. To me he said:
The Lord will choose you for... but I was gone,
and half-way down the great stone steps before
it came to me: ...his breakfast, I don't doubt!
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
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Oh to be inconspicous that certain moments! Your words great even half-way down the steps!
Oh how lovely Dave - and how apt. I think we all have these situations when we think of something we could have said, something witty and clever, by which time it is much too late.
Thanks Dave. what a scary vision you paint.
The links are up on the Poetry Bus post any minute now.
Chilling stuff from your chequered past! A touch here of Stephen's horrors at the beginning of 'A Portrait of the Artist...'
I think it's good you didn't hear the end of his sentence .... OR maybe he was going to predict your burgeoning talent....but you always knew you had that, didn't you? WORDS, they have great power.
We have all stood on those stairs at some time or other. Enjoyable stuff.
Very stark and scary. I think we've all been in that situation.
Atmospheric piece Dave!
impaled upon that stony stare
we've all been there
Once again you put us right there with you. Excellent work!
A scary portrait, but a great punchline!
I didn't know it was called 'l'esprit d'escalier', so thanks for the free lesson.
I loved your poem for the humour and the suspense. That final line was a wonderful mix of mirth and innocence.
Greetings from London.
That notion, that feeling, of 'Why me' captured here, I can feel the unease, almost claustrophobic quality in your verse. I am very glad I have found you.
"his breakfast" indeed!
Lighthearted, yet sinister.
Such discomfort on the point of glory, Dave!
Funny how different they feel in retrospect. Thanks, though.
Indeed we do, and frustrating they can be on occasion!
Thanks for posting. Great to have your comments.
What exalted company you do pace me in! (Not that I'm complaining!)
Er... no, I didn't always know that - come to think of it, I don't know that!! Very kind of you to say so, though. I do agree that it may be as well that I didn't catch the end of his sentence... or did I decide to drop it from my memory? I wonder...
Thank you. Maybe we use them for our art more often - might take the sting out of the frustration!
Thanks for the comment.
... and thought it meant specifically for us when it was for the world in general.
Lovely comment. Thanks.
A Cuban in London
Thanks. I didn't know it was called that, either. We Have to thank Emerging Writer for the info'.
A warm welcome to you and sincere thanks for commenting. All such feedback is gratefully received.
Thanks. I guess that sort of sums up one kind of childhood memory.
Perc eptive observation! Thanks.
How well you convey the terror instilled (albeit possible in your mind) by those in the church hierarchy! They do have steel-rimmed eyes and beaky noses, don't they!
Having been on the wrong end of the glare from a number of displeased nuns, I could well sympathize with this.
I don't know whether to direct you here: http://hyggedigter.blogspot.com/2011/01/poetry-bus-bit-of-just-desserts.html
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