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Undertones of heaven and hell
by David Barger
2010-10-11 08:04:29
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I regurgitate the morning alarm
Sounding in loud bursts announcing
The reminder of a factory in wait.
Darkness engulfs this morning commute
Where the dawn has yet raised
The sky in red and pink
With anointment of day.
Car parked on blacktop
Underneath florescent light
As I enter the mouth of this concrete beast
Venturing further and further
Into its mechanical belly.
I mold my hand to the air-gun
And bolt each window secure;
Exchange air-gun for run-channel
Forcing rubber in between metal
Where the window will raise then rest.
The metal is reinforced by metal;
My hands tingle with numbness
As metal does not give, or budge.
Rataplan is drowned by constant chains
Linked to the humming motors underneath.  
My personal barathrum!
The three o’clock tone sounds,
And there is an exhale echoed in relief.
I return home exchanging air-gun
For pen,
Hands worn and swollen.
When darkness completes this day’s transactions
I exchange writing for sleep,
And sleep for dreams, and dreams for a desk
Where the next deadline waits
Sitting near books with covers reading
Never forget what brought you here.

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Emanuel Paparella2010-10-11 09:38:33
This poem evokes for me the historical figure of the Duke of Urbino Federico da Montefeltro returning home to his famous palace, covering the ramp leading to it with his horse, taking a bath and then heading to his studiolo (a replica of which is in the Metropolitan museum of Art)where he would humanize himself with his daily study of the classics. Indeed one can do much worst than having a pen and a dest and a studiolo with inlaid wood. One can just have the sword and be happy with it.

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