Friday, September 23, 2011

The Fly

It's a slow October day with sun
when the fly seeks heat in a fat man's neck,
as he smokes a cigarette with friends.
He swats the fly with disgust and chagrin
and surveys me with modest suspicion.
A cabbie swears in Swahili at us all,
unrelated to the fly that tacks
in a tired arc only to fail and fall
to the street into a concrete crack,
where its tortured gyration outflanks
the chance leather sole from the crowd
that might crush its last escape
and lumbering take-off free of us,
Third Avenue, glass, steel, and chaos.

(c) copyright 2011 Charles David Miller. All rights reserved.

17 comments:

  1. :) beeUtiful and amazing words capturing our blind brainwashed minds of conditioning and material world ... lol totally love how you have conveyed this and so much more more more of our lives us ... how we happily pass by the garbage the starving life's miseries that really have no need to be and swat a fly a living creature that has purpose in our lives is part of the tapestry of life - with the disgust... many of us are such shams others are just ignorant, uneducated ... this poem is a sad reflection of all for me .. :)) its GREAT

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  2. Thank B. You are so right about the conditioning, and I happy that you understand how we can open ourselves to the reality. Many blessings be yours.

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  4. Distracted as I am by the blatant pimping in the comment above me, I've lost a few of my initial thoughts, but wanted to say you seem to have objectified the fly without taking away any of its identity, and in describing its actions, you not only voice its essence, but also the web of inter-relation of man, city and a sort of cosmic template where chaos feeds off itself and produces order as some sort of byproduct. I'm no expert on this writing style, but I really like this piece.

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    1. Sorry about the pimping reply, which I removed. I should keep better track of these it looks like. Your comments are always a joy to read and I thank for your thoughtful words. Though you say you're no expert on the style, I think you 've done very well in describing this investigation of capturing the chaos of the scene. The notion of a template did not occur to me, but I like it very much.

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  5. you capture well the interactions between the fly and those around it yet keep it the centerpiece...also the texture of the moment as if the man blames you for the fly...this has a nice urban grit to it...well done...

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  6. Great opening line. A rare moment, that most would miss, is captured very well here.

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  7. moments that could have been missed, but made by your words.

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  8. A well written & thought provoking poem ...I enjoyed the style and its many many meanings...a good capture..

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  9. This cracked me up! ... "when the fly seeks heat in a fat man's neck"

    These are my favorite lines:
    "unrelated to the fly that tacks in a tired arc"
    "tortured gyration outflanks the chance"

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    1. I was interested in capturing the behaviors that define contexts for meaning, so I'm glad you found it hilarious since there's much humor in the world that goes unperceived. Now that you note it, I'd say the fly was a kind of insect Buster Keaton, and that idea pleases me. Thank you for sharing that insight!

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  10. I'm happy to see that you've chosen this subject, which I happen to think is a fascinating and rich one. This is really fine too. What could be more pedestrian than the lowly fly? Yet the quick changes, the flashes of what we might describe as panic, the chaos, yes!

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  11. I think this creates just a brilliant buzz! (Pun intended) The images you paint are fantastic! Completely immersed in this journey...lowly fly indeed!

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  12. The image you paint is complete. We have sounds, smell, feel, texture, and point of view. It's a poetic snapshot taken by a fly. We hope he survives. Well done.

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  13. A whole panoply of life and death is there in your tight poem. Enjoyed is not quite the right word, but moved certainly is. Congratulations.

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  14. Lucky the fly to perhaps escape the human garbage of choas, greed, steel and glass of Third Avenue. And here we humans are able to make a better choice...but we choose to wallow in our our own metaphoric greed and waste. Thought provoking and original.

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  15. Dave King called this a "tight poem," and I so agree. With such descriptive language, one would never need travel photos.

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