The objectified ‘that’ – too anonymous
to hold the interest of a poet’s eye.
Too without likeness to ever be ‘this’.
Too void of character to qualify.
The unsatisfied ‘that’ – ever restless,
desperate for that substance, that gives it cause
to be anything more than a congress
of possibility; clutching at straws.
That which is nothing in particular,
in simplistic terms, featureless and vague,
untitled portraits, coarse and granular,
nothing in abundance; a poet’s plague.
. That be a name without a pedigree,
. all but a claim without veracity.
© Tim Grace, 26 September 2013
To the reader: An empty chair. Of itself, nothing more than a well-formed piece of furniture… an object in wait. On occasions it finds its functional fit and serves good purpose as a propositional place holder; a prop. For the most part, though, it signifies posterior potential and the possibility of congress; an invitational artefact… all but a claim without veracity.
To the poet: That which is featureless lacks identity, it’s dull and anonymous; bland. To some extent a perfect backdrop from which a point of incidental interest can draw attention to itself. As an early morning poet, I often begin my day casting about for such characters of distinction. Often as not, they remain elusive and I’m left to make do with what lies before me … objects, too anonymous to hold the interest of a poet’s eye.