Orphaned Patterns


What do you know of the deprived?

You’ve only begun to describe

by crossing vast stretches of desert by train.

What do you know of the rain?

Initiating a stream

filling the vacant bed

with cascades of thread

that lace together your straying thoughts.

What do you know of your end?

Will it meet you on an island

adrift of where you are going

and where you have been?

In Rome you were homeless,

in the cafes a stranger

falling asleep by the fire

before being awoken

like a pariah

and told you had to move on.

Always an outsider

and if there was folly

you travelled beside her

going great distances to behold

that which was novel

only to seek warmth and to borrow

a fabric inseperable from the pattern

you wore as if

the journey never happened.

Without realizing it,

you had been travelling all along.

The borders were formed

by a series of routines,

like a fascade or a sheen

over the comfortable dream of security

you were always shaken from.

Even still there is movement

through the crux of decision.

At every moment

the stark if somehow swirling

black and white of the liminal edge,

an abyss,

an unknown to witness

but never fully grip as you pass through.

You’ve written all of this

on the cusp of transition

between cities all seemingly the same

room full of strangers sipping espresso

spaced out just so

their own worlds have borders,

laptop screens, newspapers and magazines,

conversations soon to be smoke evaporating

into the backdrop of a life in motion.

Habits appear to be woven

temples to the still and the rigid.

Stuck in their fabric,

in their nets longing to be recast

like orphaned patterns

re-united at long last.

By shadowlight and long silences

you can be alone and without scripted statements,

no tense sentence of greeting or goodbye,

for no one knows you in nowhere.

Nothing to expect or respect

exept the slack in the lapses of thought.

No one to meet you halfway,

only the strange language of the wind

urging you to forget what you have learned

and to begin again.


8 thoughts on “Orphaned Patterns

  1. nick says:

    dom i like the imagery of the coffee house ,strangers sipping espresso.
    and always being told to move on… reminds me of a woody guthrie ballad. nick

  2. nick says:

    there is something here… the vagabond – at peace on the road – no one knows you in nowhere.. no one to meet halfway… the wind, the road, a way to wash it all away and start over…. an inside peek into the brain of a vagabond… like it alot… sue

  3. “You’ve written all of this on the cusp of transition … conversations soon to be smoke evaporating into the backdrop of a life in motion.”

    Lovely transition. The ever-long fool evoked quite nicely. Good work.

  4. domtakis says:

    Thank you! I never thought of this character in relation to the archetypal fool but it is uncanny the qualities they share. The vagabond nature, the longing for experience, teetering on the edge of an abyss between here and nowhere, thank you for picking up on that.

  5. cindy knoke says:

    This is good. Has the feel of Prufock and his love song. You keep the imagery together, and don’t let it drift. I get a sense of a someone trying to travel? away from themself? Really good stuff. Keep writing . I’ll keep reading.

  6. Artwork here is out of this world and very Spiritual. I am not a poet but a mere inspirational Songwriter and find this Healing as when I read these words I feel them wash over me so you must be good. Jim Morrison would love this I feel somehow. It could have been him who wrote this meaning you may be Spiritual kindred Spirits. Thanks for the follow. I am going to follow you to learn some big words – joking. Following to digest and learn more about poetry. Thanks for this one.

    • domtakis says:

      I’m glad you connected with this. I enjoyed your site very much! The artwork was done by my father(Who is a painter) and I try to collaborate with him in this medium as much as possible. I’ve always felt kindred with Jim, he was a great teacher during my formative years and I still look to his work as a source of inspiration. Mentioning him in relation to this writing is a great compliment, thank you!

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