We live in a world of walls, comprising all sorts of rooms – most man-made – some concrete, others imaginary – ultimately though, we do not get to choose that last room, do we?
DVerse invites poets to wander around in words to a theme – and this week it is: ROOM.
There is a wall.
There is a wall. There.
And another. There. And still two more. There.
They have color. They are a deep red.
They have had other colors before –
and they will again.
These walls are not smooth.
Run your hands over them. There.
You see the rivulets,
but can you feel them now?
They are drywall tears. Valleys of them.
Pitted cobbles of confessed hurts.
Raised plateaus of less-than-fulfilled wishes.
Feel them. Feel all of them.
Feel all these walls.
The masons call it knockdown.
This year I’ll obscure it in sand swirl.
In honor of her leaving.
In honor of the kids having grown, and gone.
In honor of every god-forsaken room in the world.
Rooms that house babies,
pink and soft and frilly,
and funereal rooms, dank and dark,
housing mephitic casualties,
miscasts, and those relegated to end roles.
My room is an office.
I file things against the walls.
When I was young, my walls were roomy and uncluttered.
They sprawled across the world, meeting back-to-back, corner-to-corner.
Only slowly did they close in – on me.
Now they have closed too quickly.
And soon, they will be brown, and splintery,
smelling like pine;
and the floor and the ceiling will close down with them,
until the room is only an office space for my lying body,
and I will be filed against them,
and I wonder, then, if walls will even matter.
Randy Mazie
The Writer's Village 
I love the different types of rooms, in one’s life, from childhood to one’s final end ~ No, the walls will not matter ~ What struck me is the sensory experience of your words – colors, smells, texture ~
Thanks for linking up with D’verse Randy ~ Nice to meet you ~
Nice to meet you.
Glad to have hopped on board.
Randy
Oh, that last room and I wonder if it will matter then either. I liked this
best to wait til we get there, eh?
Randy
I read this several times and I’ll never look at my walls the same old way again.
good. I think… 😉
Randy
The pine wall was an inevitable conclusion, but odd how it always comes as a surprise – even in a poem.
Hmm. Surprise? Surprise!
Don’t even think about it – then it will really be a surprise….
Randy
For now, I’ll just think about what to make for lunch…
😉
What are we having?
Soup.
They are drywall tears. Valleys of them.
Pitted cobbles of confessed hurts.
Raised plateaus of less-than-fulfilled wishes.
Feel them. Feel all of them.
I was especially mesmerized with these lines.
Beautifully penned.
thank you.
that’s only the wall on the left side….
Randy
The image of walls closing in… this is such a great metaphor for life itself i think… you have really described the room going from meadows of the youth to the coffin walls… (at least that is how I read it).
Yes, I rode all over the walls from the beginning to the end…
randy
Randy, thanks for writing to my prompt. I really like what you did with it – the details: the colors, the drywall tears, the room with babies, the funeral parlor, the differences between the early walls, and then the pine walls at the end of life. Really an intriguing poem!
thanks.
there was a lot of room (pun intended) to maneuver.
Randy
“…They are drywall tears. Valleys of them.
Pitted cobbles of confessed hurts.
Raised plateaus of less-than-fulfilled wishes.
Feel them. Feel all of them.
Feel all these walls.”
I especially liked these lines…..but there are so many here. It is true…..we’ve been surrounded by many walls…some of them our own making. Others, decorated or defiled by others. Yours got me thinking here……and that’s a good thing.
I like thinking.
I think.
More people should.
😉 Randy
Oh, man. This is powerful.
Love this:
“They are drywall tears. Valleys of them.
Pitted cobbles of confessed hurts.”
And that last room becoming a coffin…whew.
Well done.
Praise which I appreciate from someone whose work I admire greatly.
Thanks,
Randy
“When I was young, my walls were roomy and uncluttered.”…nice time and space…how sad it doesn’t last long and we are made to move….love this unique take on the prompt…
I hope more than unique, universal.
Randy
Sheesh this is good!
I love these lines:
“Pitted cobbles of confessed hurts.”
“The masons call it knockdown.
This year I’ll obscure it in sand swirl.
In honor of her leaving.”
“housing mephitic casualties,
miscasts, and those relegated to end roles.”
“until the room is only an office space for my lying body,
and I will be filed against them,
and I wonder, then, if walls will even matter”
Are you kidding me with that brilliant ending?! You rule, dude. ~Bowing at your feet.
Stand please that I may wash yours.
Ha. But thank you for the words of endearment.
Much work to get to even this point.
And much thanks.
Randy
I love the build up to the final room and the splintering and where walls no longer matter. Very powerful and a great way to express a difficult subject.
I think rooms are powerful things – not just on the inside,
but being on the outside, looking in, wanting to get in wondering what’s in there, and then maybe hoping to get out once inside.
Randy
Oh yes, we must be able to get out!
This is powerful. It doesn’t satisfy my search for a happy-room poem in the dVerse bunch, but it is powerful nonetheless. Peace, Linda
good luck in that search.
Many of us search for that, too.
Randy
I really enjoyed your “travelogue” of various rooms at different times in your life and how they served different purposes. Certainly, at the end in that splintered pine box, walls or rooms will be of no further use.
I see it is your first visit to dVerse, Randy, welcome!
Gayle ~
Thank you, Gayle.
I appreciate your comment
and I like the way you spell your name.
Randy
Haha…I have my mother to thank for that. And you’re welcome!
A life enclosed in these ever-changing walls. I love the imagery and the way the poem built up to the ending. May you have many more years, Randy.
why, thank you.
But on my better days, it is what it is.
Other times, I rage against the dying of the light
Randy
Believe me, I get it!
Too close for comfort! A disturbing write.
Me, too!
Walls never
matter
unTilled
built..
teaRing down
harder
yeT
possible sTill
death
wE
pARt..:)
I like folks who respond in poetic kind.
I do that myself.
…Nothing matters until it is built.
there is no existence until there is existence.
And then after, there isn’t…
Have a good existence today!
Randy
Love it.. Thanks.. Friend..:)