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| An Innocent Voyeur |
Not all writing is easy to understand, especially when it comes to poetry.
A poem and it's meaning is subjective, and depends on the whim and mood of its creator.
We are taught to show, rather than tell, when we write and to make the poem have both voice and rhythm, even when it doesn't rhyme.
We're taught to invite the reader the freedom to bring their thoughts and feelings to the poem and make of it whatever they may.
I love writing poetry -- there's a burning need to write. My thoughts and words are uncomfortable where they are. They seek the validation of flowing through my fingers.
The following poem was born from my overactive imagination. I was on a walk one evening and I passed an old Victorian home. As I was standing there admiring its beautiful lines, I noticed a window on the third floor. The slats in the blinds were either broken, or just bent and gaping from age.
The house next door had a window straight across from it, but below on the second floor. It was easy to see how a peeping tom, even an innocent one, would have an unobstructed view into the the window below.
The Innocent Voyeur
by CJ Heck
An old man glances
through a window
to one in the building below.
Through slats awry
in seduction's haste,
candlelight strobes on
sweat-glistened bodies.
He watches, transfixed,
lewd images through the blinds,
eyes too frozen to obey.
(Turn away! Go to bed!)
Two bodies move, unaware
of the innocent intrusion.
He watches, aroused,
passion rising in two rooms now.
A goddess bent over a sofa,
Adonis behind
in the flickering light.
A conqueror
and a conquest.
Memories of his own youth
rekindle and burn
and the old man cries.
Bittersweet memories
haunt through the blinds
and he cries.
[From the book, "Anatomy of a Poet", by CJ Heck]
"A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write." ~CJ Heck
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