Monday, April 11, 2011

Picking Up The Pieces

                                       These shards of a mirror
                                       once hung above our mantle.
                                       We dwelled there intermittently
                                       until stepping through, you broke it. 

                                       Cracked parts of faces passing by,
                                       flashbacks of us, standing.
                                       Abstract shades in impressionist colors;
                                       expressions, shapes of noses, arms
                                       toes entering shoes, the back of
                                       your neck, pieces of our lives--
                                       us, nude or dressed for the theater;
                                       ready for work, closing the door.

                                       The cats played through its time and space
                                       not marring the smiles and smirks and jeers
                                       of visitors who spoke their history in past tenses,
                                       posing such absurd pretenses. Our knowing
                                       smiles became an archway to possibilities.

                                       Days of bright, glittering ambitions;
                                       last checks before work and meetings.
                                       Reflected nights by glimmering votives
                                       when silvered sheets shrouded burning need,
                                       in the mirror passions cooled to glass.

                                       Broken objects now, never aging,
                                       still as the disconnected stereo.
                                       A shelf of cracked memories,
                                       now distorted cubist pieces, just
                                       memories in a gilded frame.

                                       Throwing out the shattered bits
                                       forces recognition of change;
                                       The broken likenesses alter our
                                       reality as well as all my dreams.

                                       (c) Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved


  1. wow.. "The broken likenesses alter our
    reality as well as all my dreams."

    Love that ending Gay!

  2. The mood, imagery, voice - all so well sustained, Gay. Those last two lines, as Anthony suggests, are deeply thought-provoking. Wonderful write.

  3. you spin it well gay..i hate to sound like a broken record but your last two lines tip the scales...whew.

  4. your writing is exceptional...with the very first verse i knew this is a poem i must read many times...each time picking up another one of the broken pieces from shattered if each moment becomes its own eternity..."cracked parts of faces passing by, flashbacks of 'us', standing...the analogies you've used to convey your feelings are simply brilliant.

  5. An able and intense poem, Gay-- I love the concept here of what the mirror holds/has known-- this is one that pierces me. BTW thanks so much for your supportive comment the other day. xxxj

  6. *sigh* For such a softly spoken piece, it carries such emotional weight. Nicely done, Gay.

  7. So many perspectives of a cracked mirror! Especially loved the cubist connection!

  8. I love this poem. This was beautifully done!

  9. Sad ... Cracked mirror ...broken dreams- well written!

  10. so sad but so well written gay - i like how you bring the emotions to the reader with this one...delightful

  11. Very sad, thought-provoking write. Excellent right to the end.

  12. I had an early comment here but it disappeared ... Love the synecdoche of broken mirror, jagged memories and shattered dreams. You handled it deftly and fluidly. - Brendan

  13. Yes reality does shift from time to time altering the state of emotions with that shift

  14. Thank you everyone for these comments. I wrote this a while ago. This week has been a turbulent one and fairly busy. I liked this but the emotion was quite strong at the time of the write; now it's a half forgotten vagary. I thought it served as a reminder that reality and time sometimes does make dramatic shifts as budh.aaah said above and I think I'm going through another shift in my life again. They come as suddenly as the breaking of a mirror and often last as long as seven years before another one comes along. Again thank you for coming by and commenting. Gay

  15. Brendan I hate it when I lose your comments almost as much as I hate having mine lost on other blogs. Thank you for taking the time twice!

  16. The bits and pieces of house and home, all by-standers to life. Nice poem, Gay. :)

  17. I agree Gay--those shifts are almost imperceptible at first, like the passions somehow cooling to glass above--but they affect us profoundly, and change our reality into memories with their new one. This is a strong, fine piece, however distant you may feel from it now, and wholly genuine. My great pleasure to read it.

  18. dwelled there intermittently
    until stepping through, you
    broke it.

    What the mirror witnesses and sees is an evocative thought. This is a poem that needs to be read more than once. (and that's a good thing).

  19. Nice poem. Very impressive and real deep. Guess I will come back and read it a couple of more times.

  20. "in the mirror passions cooled to glass"

    a truly wonderful phrase and concept. and a truly brilliant poem!

    "The broken likenesses alter our
    reality as well as all my dreams."


  21. This is such a 'complete' poem, Gay. It is solid and ethereal at the same time...and there is so much in there...phrases, thoughts, is astounding.

    I love your work. I always feel 'filled' when I read your poetry.

    Lady Nyo

  22. Ah, so real, so lovely-- "Broken objects now, never aging," really grabbed me.