There is a Wall: dVerse ~ Poets Pub

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

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41 thoughts on “There is a Wall: dVerse ~ Poets Pub

  1. 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 ~

  2. 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.

  3. 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!

  4. “…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.

  5. “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…

  6. 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.

  7. 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 ~

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