Login   Sign Up 



by nickyflower 

Posted: 24 June 2008
Word Count: 175

Font Size

Printable Version
Print Double spaced


The stories in the lift,
weighted, like stones
tied to a corpse,
drone all the way up
to the fifteenth floor.
The elevator should have gone down,
it’s burden stored
in confessional coffin,
stuffy venting cage,
full to the brim
with perverse life-rage.

The box stops.
Two women get out,
drag their feet along the hall,
leave no doubt in their wake.
Lighter now, I descend, make
my exit by the door.
I feeling agitated and sad
as I remove my badge:
A. Counsellor, and try to recover
from another set of circumstances
told to no other.

An honour, as always,
but still I reel, ask:
“How much can people take
before breaking for keeps?
Enormous body blows of sorrow
bite grave-digger deep,
darken every tomorrow.”
The mind’s rat-infested gloom
then invites demons dance,
and oh how they enjoy,
shimmy right to the heart,
play their part,
lay eggs of hate on all our plates.”

I begin to weep for humanity,
for my own sanity….

“Going up anyone?”

©2008 Nicky Jones

Favourite this work Favourite This Author

Comments by other Members

Zamelia at 17:27 on 06 July 2008  Report this post
Hi Nicky, I liked it. It made me read it over a few times, which means it caught my interest. I thought it visualised well. The only question I would have is why the chirpy last line? It seems such a different flavour to where the poem had got to. But then I' m not a poet, so I' m probably not the one to judge. Zx

nickyflower at 16:24 on 17 July 2008  Report this post
Thanks for the comment on my poem, Zamelia. I' m pleased you liked it. I suppose the jaunty last line can be taken 2 ways. Either, there in the hope the depressed might begin to turn a corner, or that another person might join the counsellor for a trip in the box.

Warmest regards, Nicky.

To post comments you need to become a member. If you are already a member, please log in .