Dim-Lit Interior

I'm done crying into my beer about love.

My days of riding the shiny brass schoolbus are behind me as well.

The changes come slowly but suddenly.




One day the sun will burn so brightly it will turn all our seas into vast boiling vats.



Freedom comes from understanding our lack of ability to change things.

br>
So lead me O Destiny whither is ordained by your decree.



Just please don't force me vaccuum the stairs.



The quiet that follows the storm may be the same as the quiet before it.



Let the wind blow.



Let it blow down each tree on the bright boulevard.



The things I would most like to change are the things that make me believe change is possible.

by Suzanne Buffam

Comments (4)

I dont like it either. It just doesnt make sense and isnt very attractive to read. Plus, I dont really understand the point or why you would waste time writing a poem like this.
I dont like it either. It just doesnt make sense and isnt very attractive to read. Plus, I dont really understand the point or why you would waste time writing a poem like this.
To each his own interpretation I suppose. I'm sure many adore modernistic contemporary poetry. And it is very obvious to me that Mr. Hecht spent a great deal of time selecting exact meter and rhyme with this poem. Perhaps it is just in the way my mind perceives things but when meter is emphasized over rhythm I lose interest. In the first stanza there are two lines that end with periods and begin again. That absolutely crashes any rhythm I could attain and it is just not enjoyable for me. This is something that I continuously see from the world's best educated poets and taught in Ivy League schools. The second stanza is absolutely wonderfully sensual and I would call it perfect. But he goes to make love in an upstairs room and concentrates on tombstones across the lake. But then The eventual shapes of all our formless prayers: ! ? ! What tangent is this taking us down? Every line a different tangent, a string of completely unrelated thoughts which take the form and beauty of lovemaking toward some winged thing killing mice? ! ? What does that mean? Are we just supposed to be in awe of the form, or the content? Modern poetics have turned down this road and is praised by oh too many. It makes little sense to me and I don't like it, I don't like it, I don't like it.
Intriguing dying firelight which slides into a romantic playful rising sexual expectation, before the turn with a new definition of moonlight and night owl catches, to end a beautiful lakeside cabin retreat for the weekend. Nice images with a twist of dry humour :)