Ekphrasis
In Mud-Colored Dreams, We Watch Our Distant City
After Standing in the Shadows by Rick Mobbs
These days, there are no more
convenience stores, flickering all-night
sales in fluorescent letters. No more
red semi trucks, jackknifed
across clogged highways. No more
stoplights living in perpetual transition.
No more vagrants lying over heating vents. No
more mothers dragging dawdling toddlers
to day care. No more pick-up
basketball games at dusk. No more
pink haired artists slinging lattes
with disdain. No more bicycles. No
more bicycle owners. No more ATMs.
There are no more noisy midnight
revelers, chased by police sirens.
No more flower plots, carefully tended.
There are no more people. In my dream
there is only us, transformed: a silver
horse who’s forgotten how to walk upright and you,
a bird, molting back into human form. Together,
we keep waiting for signs of life.
For more work inspired by Rick Mobbs, check out Read Write Poem.
9to5poet
this is a great story. you really took the painting in an interesting direction!!
wow
this poem evokes a great personal sense of loss, of ordinary things missing, made achingly real simply by the recitation of things not there.
i love how only a few words are enough to describe Rick Mobbs’ painting in concrete terms, with the rest of the poem there to fill in the _feeling_ of the painting. beautifully done!
Your language is intricate with sound — “mothers dragging dawdling toddlers” — and there’s the world in the first five stanzas. This is great.
You paint a lovely picture with words!
I read this a few times before it started hurting. The first reading, I saw peace and quiet, but the final lines forced me to go back and think again. I suspect many of us can relate to the story either as a loss or a painful struggle to overcome obstacles. Wonderful.
I too chose Standing in the Shadows..you however did an amazing job…thank you!
jorc
empty garden
Jessica, your poem took me on a ride of the imagination, so many visual elements of our contemporary world, images of the suffering, monotony, drudgery, tending the home, and ending with the shining dream image. A wonderful poem!
yes, what christine said, a wonderful poem.
So nicely done — all the negatives, desolate, and the bird, molting…