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A Man Misplaced
July 16, 2014
10:59 pm
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“Alone I will follow the dark trail, black void on one side and unattainable heights on the other, darkness before and behind me, darkness that pulses and flows and is felt. Then suddenly, an unreal breath of wind coming from infinite depths will bring to my ears again the strange, dimly-remembered sound of the rushing water. When that sound dies, all dies.” ~ Everett Ruess

 ruess.jpg

A man misplaced in the desolate

solitude of monuments. His layers exposed

like desert thumbs, chiseled siltstone lines cut

across the grain and thirsting for ink.

A mirage can be liberating—arriving

in a fourth world, a dreamscape in the negative,

blackness brushed away with horsehair

and burnished into day. Ethereal elements

shook the grit from his skin, separated

the demons and left them feeble and ruddy

to harden in the sun. A man misplaced

carves out the landscape of his own ghost—

death’s first witness. His axis

seeps into sandstone, walls

that leave behind mundane

manuscripts and temporal treasures

etched into simplistic black and light.

 

This one received an honorary mention in the Utah Arts Festival Ironpen competition this year where writers had 24 hours to create an original work from a prompt, which is the image of a Ruess woodblock print of Monument Valley here in Utah. I learned so much from this prompt and was so pleased with the poem, winning something was just icing on the cake!

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The following users say thank you to tlhopkinson for this useful post:

c4a1g
Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
July 17, 2014
2:01 am
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I can see why

enjoyed the images

thankyou

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tlhopkinson
July 31, 2014
5:06 pm
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A man misplaced seems to be a man who is stripped from the world and its influence, and all that is left to remain is the individual himself. Truly thought-provoking. This poem is outlined with strong and haunting descriptions which awed me as well. Congrats on the honorary mention!

The following users say thank you to SerenaLantha for this useful post:

tlhopkinson
My identity can be found in my writing
July 31, 2014
10:45 pm
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Glad to see you're getting caught up on thoughts :). Thank you as always for the comments!

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SerenaLantha
Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

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