Submerged Poem by Glen Kappy
Submerged
Two giant collections of humor
on the floor beside my bed.
My appetite for them is small—
their few laughs like empty bottles of ale
that bob at whim of brooding waters.
I read The Old Man and the Sea instead
remember naked will rubbed raw
by prickly rope and constant pressure.
It is only myself I carry
but the weight is heavy—
perhaps the heaviest weight of all.
My soul keeps moving—but in shuffle steps—
waiting hope submerged to show itself again.
You captured the feeling of this very well, Glen. I love the image of the humor books bobbing like empty bottles on brooding waters... What a contrast is The Old Man and the Sea! You mean raw hands from the rough ropes? I can picture it, almost feel it. No doubt hope submerged rose again. Interesting that you felt submerged, but the word submerged in the poem refers in the end to something positive.
thank you, laurie. yes, raw hands from trying to draw in a huge fish... i hadn't read this poem of mine in a while, and i was struck again by it is only myself i carry... the heaviest weight of all. i still think this true. good thing i- we- don't have to carry it alone, yes? -glen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 1:58:30 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Read it again. Another good one. Only myself I carry, but the weight is heavy. That's depression for you. Remember my poem about a bubble? I've been looking at them again. Such hard work to emerge, one doesn't realise. They become disc-shaped and are constantly turning inside out as they go up.
obviously i didn't check to see if you had commented on this one before, so thank you, laurie for giving it another go. -glen