. a fine line .

:: thanks to Halls Writing Forum for the challenge and the feedback ::

Sonja: “it is a fine line we walk”
I read a beautiful and sensitive reflection. Sonja’s much loved ethereal style is magnificent here. “gently avoiding peptides” makes the “fine line” visible – I can see myself moving around inside the human brain, trying to tread carefully.
Almost biblical tonality: “for many times will you be tested”. This adds to my feeling of magnitude in this gentle, trembling poem.
I’m intrigued by the “we” and “you”. Their use in the poem makes its meaning universal – the reader is both “we” and “you”.

 the fine line ~ fine lines
it is a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,only just a theory,
yet used independently,
alongside honest work,
for mending.

the film continues,
some of the old cast, new actors oblige,
ideas on lack of addictive ways.
simple days without receptors.
singing under breath, counting, unpacking boxes,
this is the lead. hints are posted, and may you believe them graciously.

for many times will you be tested.

there were substitles, out of focus,
we could not read the other language.
the film continues…. peptides.

sbm.

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Sonja: “it is my mother’s birthday”
Dark poem using the dangerous ambiguity of Punch and Judy to show the fine line between laughter and violence. The clever use of “he” in the second verse is punch or god? I’m drawn to think of Trump’s ridiculous antics that helped perversely to increase his support (“laughter”). The line “children were removed” is also sinister, reminding one of Gestapo round-ups and suggesting that human beings are simply puppets, as Punch and Judy are, submitting to what is done with them.
The second verse is a terrible and apt summary of 2016’s politics.
the fine line ~228 politics

it is my mother’s birthday.

we stood and watched
punch and judy yesterday,
while god was all behind us.

he bashed, we laughed,
he bashed, laughed more,
he bashed.

children were removed
from the vicinity,
others stayed.

incorrect musings
regrading life and buskers.

pastel buildings mask
the incorecctness of it all.

it is my mothers birthday.

sbm.

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