Analysis of Standing At The Bannister
For a long time, the doubting was crucial, it leaves in waves. at times, quite the literalist, the realist, with a hunch. The gravel is a spigot. The soil upchucks ghosts and goblins.
By gut, by fancy, wailing inside, walking carefully. By revelation, to have discovered, what was original—it sat in binoculars, in a box, a full appearance, exquisite opera glasses.
I will confess—this has been trying—a most pervasive, intrusive eloquence: mental jabbing, bats walking, the dragon flustered, the snake hissing—to become the Awe we chase.
I was grieving a loss. I stopped. The loss isn’t for me to grieve. (People are peculiar. We notice mistakes … even false ones. We grieve or honor excellence … after certification.)
It’s now inside of me. I don’t wrestle it anymore. It’s trauma—new particles—ignited old residences. We might not value honesty … more pleasantries. I won’t ask again – not in like
fashion. (The grains are with weeds. The next season, we’ll be more careful. (We might overrate the debris, and underrate the wheat.) In due time, this will pass.)
A soul will work against self—once a seed is sewn. Better, a soul will attack self over an indiscretion. As rethinking its position, filled with criticism, permitted without egress.
Most ancient fever—distraught with presence, warding off depression with anger—forming a gatekeeper, made critical, fraught by indifference and remorse, more then, than now.
Society would have one in guilt forever, despite, the fitting or unfitting punishment. As if souls are made of stubborn parts, sure intractability, a mind naturally incorrigible.
Yes! Some behavior is clinical, pathological, but trespass is different. Oh for illusion and hurting—if kindred souls, where one is accountable here, but suffering a deficit there.
I have tasted sweet wine, by chalice and spirit, made low for unbeknownst reasons; nay, the tender reality of hoping in, and for, excellence, to believe in something innately perfect.
We never mention the 90-year-old able-minded woman in the slums, most holy for her entire life. She never needs more than her allotment. She never makes a social faux pas.
It becomes the city slickers, the reverent and irreverent, those made of impervious material. It becomes a painstaking excitement. It becomes entertaining one another to stand one another.
So unfiltered the undercurrent. So systematic the response. I must go back to an unstable space—to garner a stable stasis. (Those years meant much; the lady has passed; we revere her flame.)
Scheme | X X X X X X X X X X X X X X |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1011010110110111101010010101010100111010 111101001101001010110101101001100100001010101001010 1101111100101001010010101100101001101010111 11100111011111110101011001101111110100100010 110111111010111011000101100011110100110011101101 10011110110111101101001000101011111 0111011101111001101110101010101010111000100101 11010011101010101101001011001101000011111 01001110101001010111001111111011101100001000 110101100010011110011010010110111101001110001001 1110111100101110011010101011000110010101001001 110100111010100011101001011101110010110101011 10101010010000100111010001001010100101010101010111010 1010010010100011111110101110010111110101110101 |
Characters | 2,584 |
Words | 432 |
Sentences | 43 |
Stanzas | 14 |
Stanza Lengths | 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1 |
Lines Amount | 14 |
Letters per line (avg) | 142 |
Words per line (avg) | 29 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 142 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 29 |
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"Standing At The Bannister" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 14 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/120993/standing-at-the-bannister>.
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