“Steeled Prisoner” The Sunday Whirl #183

She had been a quiet girl,
wrapping herself in a guise of diamonds,
playing childhood games of mystery
chasing secrets from her pillowed-nooks,
looking for shadows in light only to find them
hidden in darkness.

Today as the troops gather; their laughter shines.
I sense excitement and enthusiasm.
She reads the speech aloud,
they listen with intent
to engrave it in their memories.
Such passionate creatures
betrayed by torrid dreams of:
martyrs and seers.

Tonight she spends time unnoticed
among ordinary furniture
and her mother’s faded curtains,
while a melancholy cat
lies upon the floor.
She writes the words to verses in my wrists,
I’m soundless, a stranger,
when the roof begins to turn
with a rusted iron hiss.


34 responses to ““Steeled Prisoner” The Sunday Whirl #183

  1. “chasing secrets from her pillowed-nooks”–what a nostalgic feel you’ve evoked here with this line. Love this!

  2. The last verse really turned this upside down…i see a little girl trapped in an unhappy house..creating a world to escape to…with her cat maybe…not a little dissimilar to a certain little friend we know and love…peaceful Sunday to you Pamela

  3. Let that roof fly!!

  4. All the cats I know are melancholy. Nicely captured.

  5. Each reader may interpret this differently. Curiously I saw this as the remnants of a family enduring a military invasion with no place to go staying where they were.

  6. I’ve read and re-read and keep returning to a feeling of the bravado of war and the excitement of escalation cheering the troops betrayed by the “torrid dreams martyrs and seers.” until all falls away. A thought-provoking piece.

  7. This is a thought provoking piece! But so lovely, kinda far off, dreamy. It seems to point one way, then points to another….another view, all the same.

  8. Beautiful crafting here, pamela. I especially love the way you use your images to build presence, the girl ‘wrapped in a guise of diamonds, ‘ the reality of ordinary furniture and curtains juxtaposed with the shining hopes/enthusiasms of those who attend to martyrs and seers, but most especially ‘she writes the words to verses in my wrists..’ a stunning phrase– just lovely work.

    • Joy Ann, that was totally unintentional, but it came out that way. I kept thinking about writing words or verses on my wrist, mind you I don’t do that 😉 Thanks for visiting me. ox

  9. Love the way this story floats along all on its own …rich words fill the sky with every day people …. a keeper

  10. Oh my goodness, the ending is just delicious. The rest reads like a life well lived. Regrets and all.

  11. Beautiful fluid imagery that leaves me wanting more…


  12. You did well, Pamela. You really did. Like this: torrid dreams of:
    martyrs and seers.

  13. A really great write with your flowing imagery .. impelling and moving.

  14. you have given her quite the story….and what a rather ominous end….its good to see you again pamela…smiles.

    • Brian, some times things are quite ominous, whether we want them to be or not. Nice to see your–smiles. Thanks. I’m hoping I don’t regress into my dark cave again.

  15. Excellent story in the poem. Love the poems being written on the wrist, hopefully not in blood. I’m getting a war vibe too. Which makes the poem more bittersweet, along the phantom that’s following her.

  16. Truth is stranger than fiction at times, Cathy. Thanks.

  17. Love the poem, esp. the last stanza.

  18. Wonderful, Pamela. I saw the poem as Old Egg did.

I appreciate all comments.

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