Friday, January 29, 2010

the ceiling seems to be an unknown sky (Friday's Sunday's Poem, 42)

Today's poem is from Renee Mangunay, who also wrote Paradox, featured here not too long ago.


Weeks have passed by and lots of things have changed,
All so instantaneous;
his life's been rearranged.
This isn't just a renovation,
the furniture's been moved.
The floor smells like varnish;
The wallpaper new.

Not only is one room unfamiliar,
the whole house is now a stranger.
This is supposed to be his home,
where he feels safe,
no danger.
Instead, he feels abandoned in some foreign land.
With nowhere to go to, nor any permanent shelter.

The door's been recently painted,
the windows recarved.
the ceiling seems to be an unknown sky
he's never seen before.
He wants to help himself,
be shown some direction;
but he's simply standing in this place,
which once used to be his haven.

He's staring at the walls,
observing how they change,
with every second he spends on his search.
his long search for some answers.
And while he sees his surroundings switch,
from red to gray;
from gray to green;
he himself becomes different.
No longer knowing the person he's always been.

So who's this boy there,
whose identity is now lost?
Not finding that joyful place
that he had always sought?

Creates a rather stark image and a haunting set of possibilities, doesn't it? What's happened to the boy in the poem, a reader wonders. Did someone die? Did he get hurt? Did he just go away and come back? Is the house empty? The more I read and re-read it, the more intriguing it gets. Nice work, Renee.

Read more of Renee's poems and thoughts on her blog, Half-Baked Disillusionments. Got a poem in you? Contact me at and I'll post it on Friday's Sunday's Poem. (Put FSP or something similar in the subject line, so I know to get back to you before I answer that Nigerian government official I'm going to help over the weekend.)

1 comment:

Petri Dish said...

Where are your 3 good things? Hurry its my birthday. I need a good laugh or an aww moment.
Oh and you should look out for my poem, its the best thing since sliced bread, it makes the illiad seem like a really long dull book...hmm I'd better start writing it.
"How now brown cow"