Three Years into Limbo (New rev 20.02.2012), 2 or 3 revs. *** (for crits) Options

[Psyche]

Thank you Snow, Steve, Wally, Dani, Lori and all for your enormous help.
I've just tweaked a few lines (put italics), so didn't copy & paste again.



REVISION

Three Years into Limbo

I was wrong.
Time is gentle with you.
Your mind sheds muddled memories.
Each day, you’re born again.
Conformist drill, primary needs,
hallucinations, mirth.

A broad smile greets me.
We hug - I'm your bride!
-What’s in t'bag?
-Cookies.
And peach juice. What joy!

-'Tis m'fiancée, B..b..ertha.
-Oh… I say.
Bertha stares vacuously.
You wave angular arms:
-M'wife lives 'nudder h..h..hotel!
Bertha articulates:
-Do come soon.
-Mmmm… I mumble.

Outside, pungent evening air
is a mocking lifesaver.
It’s Sunday. Families
stroll by with pushcarts,
cyclists whizz between lazy traffic,
the odd sparrow picks at garbage.

I feel lonely among the dog poop,
bicycles, sparrows.
Families irk me.
An ochre sky compresses my shoulders.

I hear kitty meowing as I
fiddle with keys in the lock.
She twines herself around my legs,
tripping me as I search for a cool
drink and our dinners.

My wits are awash in chaos:
my dreams dream you
on bygone illumined isles.

Limbo has dance-stepped over to my side
with sidling grotesquerie.

Poetry and plans are on hold…


20.02.2012 revs:
Conversations in italics.
S2, L5: Different.


Revs: S2, L5.
S3, L1

Sylvia Evelyn, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2010.



ORIGINAL

Three Years in to Limbo

I was wrong.
Time is gentle with you.
Your mind dumped merciless memories.
Each day, you’re born again.
Conformist drill, primary needs,
hallucinations, mirth.

A broad smile greets me.
You hug me like a bride.´
-What’s in that bag?
-Cookies.
… gobbling goodies.

-This is my fiancée, Bertha.
-Oh…I say.
Bertha stares inanely.
You wave your arms:
-My wife doesn’t live here.
Bertha articulates:
- Do come soon.
- Mmmm… I mumble.

Outside, pungent evening air
is a mocking lifesaver.
It’s Sunday. Families
stroll by with pushcarts,
cyclists whizz between lazy traffic,
the odd sparrow picks at garbage.

I feel lonely among the dog poop,
bicycles, sparrows.
Families irk me.
An ochre sky compresses my shoulders.
I hear kitty meowing as I
fiddle with keys in the lock.
She twines herself around my legs,
tripping me as I search for a cool
drink and our dinners.

My wits are awash in chaos:
my dreams dream you
on bygone illumined isles.

Limbo has dance-stepped over to my side
with sidling grotesquerie.
Poetry and plans are out…



Sylvia Evelyn, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2010.

[Psyche]

Dear Wally!

Your encouragement is music to my ears! Thank you so much for taking the trouble to analyze the contents of my poem. My slow response is due to my recovering from an unusual summer pneumonia that kept me in bed with fever a good part of January. Horrid chest cough & all those X-rays....ugh!

I'd been fiddling with the finale and that's what remained of my fiddle...LOL...I'm not sure whether it's totally negative, since the author, in spite of saying 'poetry and plans are out', has in fact written a poem! I would indeed appreciate any { --- } that might help me improve parts of the poem, especially the ending.

I don't know whether I got the message across that the person with dementia was originally considered to be in 'limbo', but that the author now realizes that Limbo (personified purposefully) has sidled into the other court, the court of 'normalcy'. Am I speaking any sense?

Thanks again, Wally, for your enormous help.
Hugzzzzz, Syl***
PS: I'll be back to answer Steve & Arnie tomorrow, hopefully. My energies are depleted, but gaining strength again! See ya...