Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Poetry

"Blackout Vesper" is a great title!


"lonesome hiways.."

Everytime I hear this phrase (which is quite often), it bugs me!

Yeah, I feel all po' faced and nicotine stained when I hear it, but it's just done to death. C-grade country and western. And besides...I wonder how a hiway could be lonesome. I know that it's supposed to be poetic and entreat empathy...'lets feel for the traveler in this desolate place'...but it always sounds like an atttempt to ascribe human emotions to an inanimate object. It's the hiway that's lonesome(?) (hmmm...on second thought maybe I like it better when I think of it that way, like buildings are said to have personalities, and cars are given nicknames like they're lovers or pets.)


"the lights are out...

They are black"

I like this. Strong visual.


"crusted with broken spider-webs..."

Crusted and broken seem to fight w/ one another. I can see a thickness of web, surely a crust, but with 'broken' I picture the webs waving and flapping in the breeze. A fluttering, whipping, flapping crust? Maybe it's just me, but....


What is it that's swollen?

Ripe? How big do these lights get? What's causing them to swell?

Illuminated memories?'s dark. Too much of a contradiction...makes my head hurt. (Darkly illumined? Inside the head, the mind, the memory?)


"All of them are twisted
through dusk with fog..."
and mothed haloes."

The fog is twisting them? Okay. Visual distortion. And mothed haloes. Where is the light coming from. The memories? Too vague. Moths to a light? An inner light? Will they burn their wings on dim nostalgia? I'm not so sure what to feel here. Awkward.


"Waves are not able
to pray across shores or skylines."

Praying waves...okay. I see the kneel and bob of genuflection, the up and down motion of prostration and hands-up hallelujah elation...waves can do that...I've seen 'em.

Across shores or skylines. You lost me here. I got nothing else to say about that one...there's just no connection for me. And I love a good abstraction, but this might not be one.


The last line is wonderful. I'm envious. Sad, and beautiful because of that sadness; nothing can be controlled, here's your 'religion' -in the depth and roil of nature, and maybe there's illusion of human voice floating like desperate ghosts if ghost was only allied to the human.

That line could have been the whole poem and I would have loved it!