Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Tuesday Poem

Irish Pipes in the Forrester Gallery

The ceiling is libidinous
It curls and swells
and holds
lightly to decorum

The floor is knotty
But sound and square
It promises
to keep behaving

49 chairs are in position
They were prised open
An hour ago
They are not comfortable

Under a man’s arm
A bag is filling up with air
Pipes hang over his knee
Skinny and awkward

His fingers cradle a hollow bone
The bellow is breathing
Dust molecules, huddled in corners
Turn to face the music

The chairs roll onto tiptoe

The ceiling cups her breast

The floor forgets his promise.

Pam Morrison


  1. Now, that's a satisfying ending -- the way it reaches back to the previous stanzas makes the poem compact. Deftly interwoven, Pam. Kudos. Cheers.

  2. I like it real good. Have my issues with the sexy ceiling, and some of the detail, but I respond to the chairs, the floor, the dust (though molecules?)... I like the way everything in its own way sits up and takes notice, and then some. It's got vitality. He rawe!

  3. I agree, it is a vital poem, a sexy poem. I love the libidinous ceiling ...! and I love the way the 'chairs are prised open' and aren't comfortable! The first poem to make me feel something for a bunch of chairs. Love the floor forgetting his promise too.... Great stuff Pam.

  4. Thanks guys. I appreciate your comments!