The Simplicity of a Poem makes me turn to Metaphors….

Here at the Idiom we love a good narrative poem….We’re fans of minimalist writing and enjoy coming into a party and waiting for the anticipation to leave….

But when a poem is narrative and concrete and straight forward with its images and story….I eventually look at the piece for more than what’s being said and find metaphor and meaning in everything…

In the current issue of The Idiom there is a poem called Icicles by Caitlin Sinead Jennings which makes me turn the whole piece into a metaphor….maybe it’s because we live in Jersey and right now when we see the word Sandy it makes us think of the storm that hurt our shore last year or maybe I just want icicles to be more than condensed water dripping off of awnings that remind me of A Christmas Story and Ralphie who I look so much like….or that Caitlin brings us to the bank at one point and the struggles her narrator is having in their post Sandy be-Jobless World and the pleasure found in learning new words and using them in dangerous situations when there really is no time to learn new words….

Now I’m rambling….The Idiom doesn’t normally deal with politically themed pieces but when one is written as well as this one was, hiding the political overtones and focusing on the enjoyment of the poem instead of its message I have to accept it and will even post it below because I think its our favorite piece in this issue….

On a side note stay tuned to our blog on Thanksgiving Day when we will be releasing a special video featuring our interactive cover!

 

Icicles

I assessed the icy blades hanging from the bank awning before setting up orange cones and pulling a ladder from my “Ted’s Landscaping” truck. The image of the lawnmower on the side seemed out of place in winter, when instead of cutting grass we were shoveling snow and removing hazardous icicles.

I was used to walking under this awning, not climbing to be on level with it. I saw it before depositing my first paycheck and before asking for a mortgage. The bank gave Jimmy, just two then, an orange lollipop and Sandy and me the home of our dreams.  But it’s also the awning that I walked under, foreclosure notices in hand, four months after Sandy lost her job.

The man I talked to sneered at our misfortune and relished the power he held over me. I frantically begged for a different payment plan. A smirk hid behind his lips when he said in an annoyingly calm voice, “We cannot acquiesce to any requests for changes in loan agreements at this time.” He didn’t even hide the laugh when I asked him what acquiesce meant.

The icicles were firm in the cold, but would grow unpredictable as it warmed. I was about to knock one down when someone disregarded the cones and walked under me. I stared, realizing it was him. He paused for a while, reading his blackberry, seemingly begging me to break the large sharp icicle above his head.  I simply acquiesced.

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3 responses »

  1. Pingback: Writing Blog Spotlight #1 | Nostrovia! Poetry

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