Stowaway

In response to the 2nd prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I step from my place of hiding




Stowaway

•

slowly
with great caution
in halting measured step
I creep from sanctuary dark
to leave this place of safety

to sidle in uncertainty
into the chafing
cutting light

head bowed
spirit crushed
tensed for flight

emerging
visible again
though barely

poised to recoil
from any sudden emotion

long now in hiding
stowed away in sorrow
fragile as a newborn bird
unsteady as a fawn
just as frightened
as unsure

my wounded soul
took refuge in aloneness
dug in
resolved to disappear
become invisible
perhaps to die
the weight of life too great

simple breaths
a considered labor
but still I drew them
hesitantly

long I lay
shallow breathing
unwashed
unfed

resigned to simply vanish
from this hopeless realm

despaired I would never find
a reason to go on

yet slowly I emerge

but please
no impulsive expectations

permit me slow and careful evolution
from my chrysalis of anguish

let me find my way
back into the light
from my place of hiding

offer only patience
and safe distance

• • •

rob kistner © 2010


29 thoughts on “Stowaway”

  1. Very atmospheric, and a really good read. The first stanza resembles a head, and I was expecting a concrete poem!

    Am I allowed to put on my proof-reading hat?:-

    “simple breathing
    a considered labor
    but still I drew them
    hesitantly”

    breathing is singular: how about “simple breaths”?

    Slap me down I’ve broken the rules!
    ViV

    1. Viv — I love center justifying my work, I find the abstract concrete nature they take on to be fascinating. You will never be slapped down young lady. I am honored you take the time to look below the surface of my work. I am writing constantly, and ever-editing my pieces — yet still things slip through… so thank you! As I said, if I could afford it, I would hire you as my proofreader — but times are hard for an old beachcomber like me… 😉

      First song I ever wrote was at age 13 in 1960 for my rock band, the TripTides. It was entitled “Lonely Beachcomber”. A local DJ actually paid to have us cut 1,000 forty-five’s (45 rpm vinyl records) of the song — so he could distribute them at his record hops at which we performed… full circle, but that is a whole other story…

  2. Ooh Rob, I love the young lady! A decrepit 72 going on elderly likes being thought young! Thankyou old beachcomber.

    As a result of reading so many of your centred poems, I’ve started doing it: not only is there the serendipity of good shapes, but it makes you see where line breaks are wrong and need tweaking.

  3. Many an agoraphobic must relate to this form of being a stowaway. And as your piece suggests, the feeling doesn’t necessarily go away.

    1. Yo Stan –

      I like your bringing this into the perspective of an agoraphobic — I’d not seen that vantage, but how astute you are in that my man… 😉

      …rob

  4. Enjoyed this poem, Rob! I particularly like the image of vulnerability when first emerging from the hiding place being portrayed as a newborn bird or young fawn, still wobbling and unsure. Nicely done!

    1. Paul – As I responded to Marja. it is a long road back, and a very shaky and uncertain journey. Thank you for your kind words… 😉

      …rob

  5. …resolved to disappear
    become invisible…

    I sometimes feel like that, only not to the extent of the next line. Tortured soul finding its way to the light. Very well written.

  6. great poem Rob….takes me back in time when I had a dark time….but looking back out of that darkness came light…and more….so I kind of cherish that dark time…thanks for the words and the reminder…cheers from some guy who is looking forward to becoming elderly

    1. Dark times are bittersweet Wayne, they can only be dark if something of value was involved — so that makes them precious. You are welcome from another guy who is embracing the wisdom life brings, though not always the aches and pains… 😉

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