Morning is remorse,
as lipstick left on glass,
stale last left beer,
left in scent of cigarettes,
sunlight razor blades.
The shower she left running
as she left me drowsy
to my jackhammers
furry tongue and ash
Yesterday we stroboscoped
tiptoed, bounced —
We were candy floss.
We were butterflies and fireworks.
We were us, you were you,
me and you, who were you?
Awake to news in black,
my coffee black, and bleak is day.
I dress in black,
did she leave a number?
will she come back?
Still life with newspaper by Juan Gris
—-
July 1, 2017
You painted quite the picture with this one, Björn, and I think your choice of word by describing it as gritty is right on. I think you did an amazing job of shaping this poem to create the image of morning being remorse.
Such a whirlwind of emotion this is, Bjorn 😀 and quite exciting too!
Waiting for truth. Well composed.
I actually think this poem reminded me of “Toads” by Philip Larkin- it seemed like the monotony and the “blackness” of the morning was quite unwelcome after the flimsy whimsical night before- the candyfloss imagery was edible…oh to be candyfloss again. Perhaps the real Toad is age…
This definitely evokes the idea of the morning after the night before. You include images to arouse the memory and conclude with those questions we hate to have to ask.
It is strange isn’t it we get a gift and think that gives us the whole world until we are brought back down to earth and what we had has just run through our fingers. Beautifully descriptive poetry.
Stunning use of imagery here Bjorn – may light find you
This would be a Monday morning to many, waking up with bitterness and void.
Oh dear. I hope the night before made it all worthwhile!
I really like how the middle verse stands out completely from the rest of the poem – it’s so light-hearted, which emphasises the sombre tone at the beginning and end.
Been there, done that – no point to either regret or wish for more of the same!
The morning after is normal when it is black or hazy. Great narration Bjorn!
Hank
Morning can, indeed, by such a thief…
Ah, I would say the poem is more of a nightmare rather than wishful thinking. Smiles. The furry tongue and ash doesn’t seem pleasant, and not knowing if she will return or not is indeed kind of a bleak thought to awaken to.
Love sucks.
Very effective aubade. A learning moment for me; I had to go research this. Your poem nails the requirements, and nails the emotions.
Lipstick on a glass, the shower left on! I feel the story and the tension. Also loved the contrast of jackhammer and candy floss. Wow.
You took me into those emotions. Well done, Bjorn.
I liked the painting you paired your poem with, like the perfect wine.
Oh dear–hopes dashed here– very soberting! A real sense of morning after and more. Thanks. k.
oy – i hope she left her number.. smiles
love the candy floss.
butterflies and fireworks…
Remorse or a wake-up call?
Elizabeth
https://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2017/04/14/april-pad-challenge-day-14/
Well, candy floss, butterflies and fireworks are all short-lived, which explains the plaintive morning after! Great grit!
Hey Bjorn, love your little romantic encounter there..haha nice one!
I found the way in which you sketched this piece: fascinating. You have struck the feeling – remorse – and then set about coloring it in with a series of bleak images, sliced through the middle with a candy floss yesterday. Powerful writing!
Oh, now I want to stroboscope! Lovely morning-after poem. The great title sums it all up, then the way you expand on it captures just the right ‘gritty’ feel. Almost, it could be from a Raymond Chandler novel, but I don’t think Philip Marlowe ever felt remorse.
Lovely images . Lovely poem. Regret is always hard to tackle.
Love this soooo much:
We were candy floss.
We were butterflies and fireworks.
Sounds like kind of a nasty night. I love the way you described the bar-scene tongue the next morning.
This is my favorite part:
“We were us, you were you,
me and you, who were you?”
You did a great job capturing the confusion.
This section is also really creative and interesting:
“we stroboscoped
tiptoed, bounced —
We were candy floss.
We were butterflies and fireworks”
I like the closing as well … the almost funereal vibe.
This sure made me giggle thinking of kinky alternatives for words and meanings:
“to my jackhammers
furry tongue and ash”
Powerful poem on loss. And, no, she did not leave a number, and she will not come back.