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Self Portrait(Just A Man)

by Richard Reed Jr
copyright 11-14-2008


Age Rating: 10 +

When they tell me I am like my father
I brood, I had hoped to make more of myself
Well, perhaps there's still time
at any rate I don't believe them
I share the autumn with my dying brothers
the leaves covering and coloring my world
with painful nostalgic images
my wife fills a room with Mozart
which I turn off, embracing
the silence as if it were an empty bed
waiting for her alone to fill it
I long for the the kind of excitement
that happens in books.
a brown and white cocker spaniel
sleeps at my feet dreaming
of manic wings emerging from the brush
my wife and I frequent restaraunts
and nightclubs
I hate the way men look at her body
and yet, I love it
I look over my shoulder
where it curves back to childhood
its white line bisecting
the real and the imagined
like the equator
divides the two parts of the earth
as for the mother world,
it survives in its own mysterious way
oblivious to the events of my life
I bury my face in books, or hold
a cell phone to my ears
and wonder if the voices on the
other end have bodies
I snapped at my wife this morning
guilt has been eating me
the rest of this day






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Total Reads: 754
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        10-05-2009     Mae Futter Stein        

Rich,
I think your poem is superb. Sometimes it's hard to block out the Mozart and other distractions in the background when trying to visualize the affects we are trying to capture in our minds and putting them to words we are trying to express. You certainly to great work and I enjoy reading your work very much. Thank you for sharing. Mae

        11-28-2008     Shannon Jaime        

I find this poem very striking, simply because it shows how we do not need a mirror to truly look at ourselves. By turning our gazes inward, who knows what little idiosyncrasies and shadowy traces of thought we will find? I also like how the last few lines capture the slightly guilty sense of self-absorption we often feel when we dwell on our thoughts for too long.

Loved the imagery, the flow, the feeling of disembodiment that merges past and present, mental landscapes and literal action. A beautifully pensive work all around.

Sincerely,
*S*

        11-25-2008     Raja Sharma        

I feel a kind of strange delight when I read your works, for I see a great poet being groomed before me, to be remembered for ages to come. I am often surprised to see a cluster of images in your poems like in this one and I admire your creativity.
You have what it takes to be one!
I will be the happiest person to see your works admired by millions in the years to come.
God bless you
Rajasir


        11-20-2008     Chelsea Armstrong        

Like a haunting voice from the pits of hell on the blackest night, guilt has become my worst enemy.
Often times we can not forgive ourselves for what has been said or done to those we care for and love. I know this story all too well my friend, for I too have snapped many a times at those I hold close.
Love is a stronger emotion, and it shall prevail over any blackness the dark can throw at us. Take it from a girl whom is young and has made a life time of mistakes.
Once again, your words and flow have caught my attention. Keep up the fantastic works Rich. Keep a smile on your face, God is always watching.

        11-18-2008     Nancy Pawley        

Rich, this poem reveals so much of who and what you are...a real human being with faults, limitations, and attributes, and an inquisitive mind filled to the brim with a broad imagination which inspires all of your writings. Great work.
Nancy

        11-18-2008     Treena Turner        

felt as though i was reading your mind-as if maybe I had a finger to your temple and it was the time just before you fell into a deep sleep.All of the days thoughts were struggling for repentance and all you wanted was solitude in place of the noisy thoughts that fight within you. I feel that noise in my life at times...Twas a twisty read-I like..

Treena:)

        11-15-2008     Frank Fields        

So many images, sounds, and unwanted memories that now demand attention until I can send back to the Hell they came from. We probably all snap at someone we love--or not--but regret the snap, anyway. Love forgives. If it doesn't, I question what it really is. Too many thoughts here, Richard, at this particular moment in time for me to be coherent. My apologies. Your writing, as usual, skilled and a pleasure to read. ^^

Frank :)



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