|White Room With Five Objects
We came to the white room and fell in love,
its recent decorations brilliantly glossed.
Speakers tossed out discordant sounds of Beefheart's band,
small brown cube chopped to be smoked.
Pair of broken strings tied to folk guitar,
Tolkein, Gormenghast, ornament for paper weight,
one fast disappearing crate of cider.
Later down pub, took passion for strong drink
to ridiculous extremes, while back in the white room
behind window panes drenched in leaves,
Beefheart sounded troubled,
substances befuddled cool night air.
Guitar strings throttled lumpy hand fired pot,
gnomes and fairies danced in pairs.
We’d missed it all, stayed out till dawn,
arrived home completely mind blown,
to a white room repainted grey.
7 Aug 06
Rated 10 (9.5) by 1 users.
Inactive (1): 9, 10
(define the words in this poem)
(847 more poems by this author)
Add A Comment:
i'm sorry but i have no idea of what to say to this, except that i like the whirring quality of it, the way it's read ... actually i'm back now and i think this poem is good. new, but not old.
and as usual you used a (your) compact style, which always detracts room for improvement.
I've just made a few alterations which i think have improved the flow and sense.
you know when you lived somewhere a long time ago and something of its atmosphere lingers in a corner of your mind? well this poem attempts to evoke that atmosphere of a place and time (circa 1970) when i lived in a very large farmhouse with a 'music room' that was painted completely white and evenings invariably finished up sprawled around listening to Trout Mask Replica among others.
i almost like your advent better than the poem. line seven is so nice because it deviates from the potential average rhythm it could have, which helps with the further sway. (and yet somehow it's still strong, when it comes to critiquing.)
i can relate to your first sentence. (as a sidenote this poem has inspired me to write a poem like that, of memory. with the lingering atmosphere. those are the ones that always resurface.)
yeah yeah 'larry wishes he was lennon lark'
This is great; it brings in a lot of image without being overwhelming, and recall without nostalgia.
I'd only suggest two minor tweaks: "later down pub" in line 8 -- actually, the whole line -- seems like an attempt to minimize verbiage that went a bit too far. The poem would lose some elements if it were merely "At the pub, we..." but you might consider that for readability's sake. Lastly (and this may well be a cultural/regional thing) the phrase "mind blown" in line 16 seems a bit juvenile, even though it may have had currency in the time/place being recalled.
Thanks, good good work.
Yeah Yeah Yeah
Larry Lennon,hardly. More like Larry Lemon. MMMMM like the smell of that.
as i read the piece, it felt like the scene of the white room, the objects, sounds were coming in and out of focus, the way it feels when a person is so wasted or high that only certain moments of a night are remembered the following day. . . it's mishmash of memory and this choppy thought process is handled effectively through the abruptness of the lines, they're condensed and the details are precise.
because of the great detail, I felt that "substances" in line 12 sounded too generalized why not just say LSD or acid . . . just a thought. ;-)
Thanks for the really helpful crit. I will consider your suggestions.
I will consider the change you suggested and thanks for the really helpful crit.