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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 3 of 3. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by PM80 on April 28, 2005, at 13:31:24
I feel adrift in this space.
Picture, if you will,
An empty white room
With an cold plastic chair
Devoid of color
Positioned slightly askew
From the rectangular dimensions
of this barren place.
I sit upon it.
Alone.
I have been told
that this room is a blank canvas,
Bursting with endless possibilities
of vibrant textures and hues.
But here,
Alone,
I wander in my mind
and wonder if, instead,
this is a room without a soul.
All of the trappings in existence,
All of the exterior notions of beauty
That glisten and sparkle,
Can never alter the base reality
Of this colorless box.I am lost.
Posted by dove on April 29, 2005, at 9:14:13
In reply to White Room, posted by PM80 on April 28, 2005, at 13:31:24
>>>
I have been told
that this room is a blank canvas,
Bursting with endless possibilities
of vibrant textures and hues.
<<<I love that section! So dang true! I cannot paint a masterpiece--or even a still-life--when I am without sight, when I feel paralyzed, when I am lacking the basic tools and necessities required to create.
The imagery you create PM is just awesome! With my flavor of inspiration, that canvas will end up on the floor, trampled by muddy feet, scuff marked and battered :-)
Thank you for sharing!
dove
Posted by cockeyed on May 12, 2005, at 11:30:33
In reply to White Room, posted by PM80 on April 28, 2005, at 13:31:24
Hey, I wanted to read your take on a white room.[cream-ca.67 Disraeli gears. but I'm a music junkie and can't help myself] Maybe this is a metaphor or maybe a real room. I "did" 6 hrs in a little pink room. Lost in the confines of what turned out to be a cell. I think you've written a fine poem...glad you shared it because I'm off on a rave and,,,well gonna write about it now. "...locked me up and throwed away the key" all about my 12 hours in the hell of a"mental health facility" By the way, that titles a quote from Charley Rich's "muddy Waters" Charley was a great singer who killed himself with booze. Hell, I'd like nothing better than a pint of Heaven Hill but God please help me stay away from feeling A-OKAY because then I'm gone. So instead of a bottle in front of me, I'll use this keyboard to do a metaphorical lobotomy. Thanks again, cockeyed.
This is the end of the thread.
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