Suicide In An Old House Poem by Lamont Palmer
Suicide In An Old House
Death surrounds us with blatant arms.
A sanitation worker dies and no one
cares, but banshee phones striking at midnight,
summoning the equally unknown people
to altars of rancor and resignation.
What do they do but recognize a human
in the grip of edgy, illegible lives,
the ritualistic mouthing of platitudes,
cold and incurable as dry, winter snow?
Bleak living room. Soon the owner won't live
in the area for living, the area's dark aria -
a moment of meth, mirth and minions.
Take that bystreet to oblivion,
to namelessness, to fingers on hardware,
to the antinome of more pure breaths.
By his own hand - a homemade gun, a killing
of the flesh and the direction of the flesh -
alone, in the basement of barren wind
The Poet I think the real hunter of the tragedy of human civilization. Time has changed and with rapid course of changing. Last stanza depicts yet time we have got much to rectify ourselves (who think themselves the civilized one, should practice to focus the lens in direction indifferent in need not by class-ics judgment. Thanks for sharing.
Very well done and thought provoking. There are many ways to kill oneself in ways that no one will comment even they may know. Drugs are one way. And people always say, 'he's in a better place', the worst platitude that I can imagine.
It's nice to read a poem that challenges the reader to think about the words and the flow of the writing. The imagery of a suicide at midnight is dramatic and the imagery is too. A suicide in an old house, a house that has seen too much...people who have become resigned to isolated living to access to weapons for suicide. 'A killing of the flesh and the direction of the flesh- alone.'
I get it. But feel you could have used less cynasim to describe the despair of life which only ends in death. Good poem lamont but sometimes unneeded words get in the way of feelings.
Poignant. The melancholy end to a sad life. Loneliness gnaws at life
Take that bystreet to oblivion, to namelessness, to fingers on hardware, to the antinome of more pure breaths. Beautiful lines. Lovely poem.10 for it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 5:21:10 AM # 1.0.0.1119
And no one cares! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.